LIBRARY 

University 

IRVJNi 


HECLA  SANDWITH 


By 
EDWARD  UFFINGTON  VALENTINE 


Author  of 
THE  SHIP  OF  SILENCE 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright  1905 
The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 


March 


P 


#265 
H"f 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


TO 

JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 

IN  FRIENDSHIP  THIS  BOOK 

IS  OFFERED 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  As  THE  SPARKS  FLY  UPWARD  3 

II  JEST  AND  YOUTHFUL  JOLLITY  13 

III  How  GREAT  A  MATTER  A  LITTLE  FIRE  KINDLETH  !   18 

IV  THE  MOVING  OF  THE  SPIRIT  36 
V  A  STRAIN  OF  RARENESS  48 

VI  MATTER  FOR  A  MAY  MORNING  57 

VII  A  WOMAN  OF  SORROWFUL  SPIRIT  67 

VIII  A  VISION  OF  JUDGMENT  76 

IX  THE  BRAIN  DEVISES  LAWS  FOR  THE  BLOOD  99 

X  AN  UNLESSONED  GIRL  117 

XI  PATHS  SET  IN  DARKNESS  129 

XII  A  PLAIN  MAN  IN  His  PLAIN  MEANING  136 

XIII  HOT  BLOOD  AND  A  COLD  DECREE  147 

XIV  A  YOUTH  THAT  MEANS  TO  BE  OF  NOTE  162 
XV  STREETS  OF  ASKALON  172 

XVI  I  AM  No  STRONGER  THAN  MY  SEX  180 

XVII  Two  DAUGHTERS  OF  ONE  MOTHER  189 

XVIII  THB  MYSTERY  OF  TIME  AND  DISTANCE  199 

XIX  A  DEAD  FATHER  AND  A  LIVING  DAUGHTER  203 

BOOK  II 

I  THE  SCENE  BEGINS  TO  CLOUD  221 

II  PEACE  ABOVE  ALL  EARTHLY  DIGNITIES  235 

III  THIS  TEMPEST  WILL  NOT  GIVE  ME  LEAVE  TO 

PONDER  245 

IV  THE  WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT  257 
V  SOWED  COCKLE,  UNREAPED  CORN  266 

VI  LIKING  DRIVEN  TO  THE  NAME  OF  LOVE  274 

VII  HAPPINESS  THROUGH  ANOTHER  MAN'S  EYES  283 

VIII  LOVE'S  LANGUAGE  BUT  NOT  LOVE  297 

IX  THE  CHORD  OF  SELF  315 

X  THE  STRONG  NECESSITY  OF  LOVING  335 

XI  SUNDERED  SPIRITS  347 

XII  THE  CONSCIENCE  PRICK  AND  MEMORY  SMART  357 

XIII  O,  CALL  BACK  YESTERDAY,  BID  TIME  RETURN  370 

XIV  SOUR  MISFORTUNE'S  BOOK  378 
XV  THE  VINEYARD  OF  NABOTH  391 

XVI  PAST  ALL  DISHONOR  398 

XVII  SPRING  PLANTS,  AUTUMN  GARNERS  412 

XVIII  THE  END  SOOTHES  ALL  THE  CURSE  OF  THE 

BEGINNING  423 


HECLA  SANDWITH 


BOOK  I 


HECLA  SANDWITH 

CHAPTER  I 

AS   THE   SPARKS   FLY   UPWARD 

In  the  year  1856  central  Pennsylvania  was  yet  a  land 
of  pine  and  hemlock.  Friends  of  the  valley,  lone  watch 
ers  on  the  height,  these  hoary  timbers  had  witnessed 
the  long  Sabbath  of  unbroken  woods;  the  coming  of 
the  Scotch-Irish  pioneers;  and  the  days  when  rude  fur 
naces  and  forges  one  by  one  rose  on  the  banks  of  streams 
to  attest  in  clouds  by  day  and  pillars  of  fire  by  night 
the  region's  new-found  wealth.  These  were  stern  days 
in  the  history  of  our  iron  manufacture,  when  the  first 
charcoal  hearths  smoldered  in  homeless  forest  tracts; 
when  caravans  of  pack-mules  followed  lone  Indian 
trails  or  clumsy  arks  floated  in  perilous  flood-time  down 
lesser  waters  to  the  broad  Susquehanna  and  Ohio;  and 
later  when  five-mule  teams  toiled  over  rough  roads 
across  the  Alleghanies. 

The  old  open-hearth  charcoal-iron  furnaces  worked 
continuously  for  almost  twelve  months.  Ore,  limestone 
and  charcoal  would  be  dumped  with  monotonous  regu 
larity  into  the  trunnel-head,  while  twice  each  day  and 
twice  each  night  the  metal  that  had  fused  would  be  run 

3 


4  HECLA    SANDWITH 

out  into  the  pig-bed — the  ebony-colored  sand  floor  of  the 
casting-shed. 

Once  a  year,  in  order  that  the  heat-gnawed  lining  of 
the  hearth  might  be  renewed,  the  furnace  was  blown 
out.  Instead  of  the  customary  burden,  blanks  of  char 
coal  would  be  put  in;  by  the  evening  of  the  third  day 
the  volatile  parts  of  the  ore  and  limestone  had  been  set 
free,  the  last  of  the  metal  fused,  and  with  the  final  cast 
ing  the  year's  run  of  the  furnace  would  be  appreciated 
with  traditional  observances. 

This  April  night  the  casting  marked  the  yearly  blow 
out  of  the  Hecla  Furnace  and  also  the  retirement  from 
active  business  life  of  the  Quaker  iron-master,  Joshua 
S'andwith.  With  the  relighting  of  the  furnace  David 
Sandwith,  the  stepson  of  Mr.  Sandwith,  would  have 
charge  of  the  Works. 

The  pines  to-night,  sweating  the  last  drops  of  a  rainy 
day,  lined  thickly  the  ravine  where  the  Hecla  Furnace 
stood;  row  on  row  they  climbed  the  slopes  to  the  verge 
of  sky  and  there  raised  prophet -wise  their  sheeted  arms 
of  invocation.  The  furnace-stack,  darkly  sketched 
against  the  mouth  of  the  ravine,  was  sowing  seeds  of 
fire  on  the  long  furrows  of  the  gloom.  The  sodden  sky 
was  starred  by  the  sparks  falling  in  meteor  showers  or 
far-drifting  on  the  breeze — brilliant  spectacle  of  the 
blowing-out. 

In  the  low  deep  casting-shed  a  workman  with  spade 
and  hickory  mold  had  just  formed  "the  old  sow  and  lit 
tle  pigs,"  the  channels  in  the  pig-bed.  From  the  cross 
beams  on  long  hooks  hung  iron  torches,  their  small 
tongues  lapping  the  draft  with  flaring  sound.  In  the 
deep  Gothic  arch  of  stone  stood  the  open  hearth,  now 


AS    THE    SPAEKS    FLY   UPWAED  5 

banked  with  ashes  from  which  the  glassy  orange  slag 
had  ceased  to  flow.  The  liquid  cinder,  sputtering  like 
a  caldron  under  the  blast  of  the  twyers  and  brimming 
the  dam-stone,  created  a  sullen  glow.  The  shed  was  an 
effect  in  shadows.  Babbles,  tapping-bars,  fosses  and 
other  furnace  tools  lay  about  or  were  cooling  in  the 
troughs  of  running  water.  The  heavy  iron  nippers  of 
the  crane  for  dragging  cinder  scabs  dangled  from  the 
roof  like  an  instrument  of  torture.  The  air  was  thrilled 
with  the  tooting  of  twyers,  creaking  of  pistons  and 
flipflap  of  clumsy  wooden  bellows. 

The  workmen  and  pensioners  of  the  Works  lounged 
about  on  benches,  kegs  and  other  inconveniences  and 
were  eying  the  bucket  of  stone-fence  brought  in  by  Low 
Knott,  a  hunchback,  the  only  person  who  could  be 
trusted  not  to  get  drunk  on  that  delicate  errand.  The 
founder,  Jerry  Brown,  was  the  host  and,  as  arbiter  of 
the  rugged  elegancies,  took  charge  of  the  liquor.  Scoop 
ing  up  a  cupful  he  handed  it  to  Uncle  Billy  Spotts : 

"Drink  hearty,  dad,  and  pass  the  tin  along/' 

Uncle  Billy  was  the  toll-gate  keeper  and  the  oldest 
man  of  the  county.  His  beard  resembled  a  bunch  of 
rabbit-tails  and  a  single  lock  of  hair  bristled  like  an  ex 
clamation  point  on  a  pate  otherwise  bald  and  yellow  as 
beeswax.  Butts  of  two  crooked  cuspids — old  guards 
that  refused  to  surrender — dented  his  nether  lip. 

"Ah  jedge  thez  plenty  a  knockem  stiff  fer  the  crowd," 
he  chirped,  having  noted  without  dissatisfaction  the 
unprecedented  quantity  of  grog  provided.  Jerry 
Brown's  manner  conceded  the  compliment;  he  was  not 
so  unsusceptible  or  violent-natured  as  his  face,  purple- 
veined  by  furnace  heat,  indicated.  Desire  to  do  what 


6  HECLA    SANDWITH 

was  handsome  in  honor  of  Mr.  Sandwith's  retirement 
and  liberally  welcome  his  successor  accounted  for  his 
generosity  that  night. 

"A  black  couple  a  days,"  Joe  the  jigger-boss  suggest 
ed,  'as  he  took  the  "tin"  from  Uncle  Billy. 

"Ben  rainen'  fit  to  float  Noar  an'  his  ark/'  the  toll 
man  answered. 

"Ye  couldn't  juke  'tween  drops  ez  Ah  cum  down  the 
crick." 

"Ah  kin  hear  oP  rheumatiz  a-cryen'  in  me  j'ints," 
Joe  lamented,  and  he  looked  pensively  at  his  crutch 
while  he  adjusted  the  eelskin  amulet  on  his  wrist. 

Archy  McSwords,  a  teamster,  stopped  scrubbing  his 
teeth  with  charcoal  long  enough  to  gibe  confident  age. 
He  was  arrayed  in  a  frayed  Mexican  uniform — a  prize 
he  claimed  to  have  secured  when  a  volunteer  under  Gen 
eral  Scott.  He  was  wont  to  put  this  on  when  indulging 
in  sprees  and  philanderings. 

"Ah  hadn't  tho't  to  see  ye  hoof  it  so  fer,  Uncle  Bill," 
he  drawled. 

The  old  man's  exclamation  point  quivered  as  he  re 
torted  : 

"Ah  kin  hoof  it  like  any  a  you  laddybucks.  They 
ain't  no  young  rooster  heartier  'n  I  be !" 

"The  Lord  ain't  fer  them  ez  boasts  of  His  mercy  an* 
loven'  kindness,"  intoned  Solomon  Stitch,  the  dolphin- 
faced  trunnel-head  keeper.  "Ye  fergit  yer  life  is  ez  a 
tale  that  is  told/' 

"Ah  allow  to  live  along  to  bury  some  a  you-uns.  Sav- 
en'  an'  excepten'  me  dead  ear  an'  gummen'  it  some  they 
ain't  no  more  well  pusson  then  Billy  Spotts.  Ah  don't 
nab  over  no  yarb  books  ner  sich,  like  you  an'  Joe,  al- 


AS    THE    SPAEKS    FLY    UPWARD  7 

though  Ah  does  swaller  a  mite  a  swamp-root  jest  not 
ter  be  proud-like  w'en  Ah  hears  folks  complainen'  ez  how 
they  enj'ys  poor  health." 

"Swamp-root  ain't  no  good  without  grace.  The  Lord 
giveth  dyspepsy  an'  the  Lord  taketh  away.  But  a  leetle 
wine  fer  the  stomick's  sake," — Solomon  said,  as  he  wiped 
his  mulberry  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

"Ter  think  now  a  Joshua  given'  up  the  Works  w'en 
he  ain't  no  more'n  a  boy  a  sixty.  Ah  well  mind  the 
time  he  emigranted  to  these  parts  an'  builded  this  here 
ol'  farbric.  A  hefty  young  felly  an'  full  a  nub  wuz 
Joshua  in  them  days." 

"Full  a  queer  notions,  though,"  the  jigger-boss  qual 
ified,  having  in  mind  a  galvanic  battery  which  was  one 
of  the  iron-master's  hobbies. 

"But  kep'  an  eye  peeled,"  Jerry  Brown  put  in. 

"An'  allus  honest  in  his  dealments,"  fell  from  Solo 
mon's  lips  like  an  epitaph. 

Mog  Pickle,  head  roller  at  the  mill,  who  had  so  far 
been  moving  his  mouth  with  the  comfortable  rumina 
tions  of  a  cow,  took  the  quid  from  his  cheek  and  stick 
ing  it  on  the  instep  of  his  boot  began  to  relate  how 
Joshua  Sandwith  in  the  old  days  was  the  first  one 
round  in  the  morning.  No  team  started  on  the  long 
trip  to  Pittsburg  without  being  inspected  personally  by 
him :  were  the  horses'  hoofs  in  condition ;  were  the  wag 
on  tires  well-set;  was  the  teamster's  kit  stocked  with 
extra  horse-shoes,  nails,  hammers,  for  use  in  case  of  ac 
cident?  Mog  recalled  Joshua's  method  of  judging  men 
who  applied  for  work:  if  a  teamster  boasted  no  rival 
had  claimed  the  hells  from  the  hames  of  his  leader — the 
forfeit  for  being  helped  on  the  road — the  iron-master 


8  HECLA   SANDWITH 

refused  to  hire  him,  saying  no  one  could  make  the  jour 
ney  without  a  break-down. 

"Joshua  was  dead  agen'  laziness,"  Mog  continued. 
"Ef  the  seat  a  yer  britches  was  shiny  he  run  ye  off  the 
premises.  An'  he  looked  mighty  sharp,  he  did,  to  see 
ef  yer  coat  was  wore  from  corryen'  a  gun." 

"Yes,  Joshua  was  mighty  pertickler  in  his  day," 
Uncle  Billy  affirmed,  pulling  his  beard  like  a  latch- 
string.  "Ah  jedge  the  noo  boss  ain't  a-goin'  to  sweat 
hisself  like  his  pap.  He's  too  fond  a  girlen'.  He'll  sup 
sorrow  'fore  his  head's  cold,  that's  wot  I  sez." 

"Why  so?"  Jerry  Brown  said  in  defense  of  Mr. 
Sandwith's  stepson,  as  he  bit  off  an  ounce  of  niggerhead. 
"Young  blood  hez  to  burn." 

Whispering  Willie,  the  flint-picker,  whose  soul  re 
joiced  over  the  retirement  of  the  iron-master  because  he 
frequently  pinched  his  ears  for  falling  asleep  at  his 
work,  wheezed  hoarsely : 

"Ah  reckon  the  noo  boss'll  run  the  shebang  a  heap 
sight  better'n  ner  01'  Trouble  run  it.  Theeen'  an' 
thouen'  an'  iron-makin'  don't  pull  together  no  more." 

"Wall,  among  ye  be  it,  blind  harpers,"  Mog  Pickle 
commented.  "Take  me  word  fer  it,  though,  they'll  meb- 
be  be  wuss  trouble  then  01'  Trouble  'fore  all  's  said  an' 
did!" 

The  silence  that  greeted  this  warning  was  interrupted 
by  the  subject  of  their  remarks,  David  Sandwith,  enter 
ing  the  shed,  shaking  the  sparks  from  his  Kossuth  hat. 
He  was  followed  by  a  heavily  built  stranger  whose  face 
had  the  ruddy  hue  of  health.  This  companion  of  the 
young  iron-master,  muffled  in  a  thick  traveling-cloak 
of  some  foreign  material,  looked  as  a  traveler  might 


AS    THE    SPAEKS   FLY   UPWAKD  9 

who  had  been  rudely  shaken  out  of  a  comfortable  doze. 
Richard  Hallett,  a  young  English  mining  expert,  on  his 
way  to  the  neighboring  village  of  Dunkirk,  had  been  in  a 
breakdown  of  "The  Indian  Girl,"  an  inquisitorial  cham 
ber  on  wheels  that  connected  Dunkirk  with  the  outside 
world.  Roughly  wakened  from  slumber  and  impatient  to 
reach  his  destination,  he  had  left  the  coach  some  hun 
dred  yards  up  the  highroad  from  the  furnace  and  started 
to  make  the  rest  of  the  journey  on  foot.  Passing  the 
"Works  Mr.  Hallett  had  been  attracted  by  the  spectacle 
of  the  blowing-out,  and,  while  thus  standing,  gazing  at 
the  showering  sparks,  had  been  encountered  by  David 
Sandwith,  on  his  way  thither.  The  exchange  of  a  few 
words  had  resulted  in  David's  asking  him  to  come  with 
him  to  witness  the  last  casting  of  the  year.  Hallett, 
whose  trip  to  Dunkirk  was  for  the  purpose  of  investigat 
ing  the  iron  and  coal  interests  of  that  part  of  Pennsyl 
vania,  had  gladly  accepted  the  invitation. 

On  David's  entrance  in  the  shed,  Jerry  Brown,  fearing 
the  conversation  which  had  just  taken  place  might  cause 
the  men  to  give  young  Sandwith  a  cooler  reception  than 
was  his  due,  called  out  with  great  show  of  heartiness : 
"Here  he  is,  men !  Let's  all  drink  to  Mr.  David !" 
Swelled  with  his  new  importance  and  his  natural 
self-confidence  increased  by  liquor  drunk  in  town,  the 
new  master  of  Hecla  Furnace  came  forward  as  his  work 
men  hailed  him.  Desirous  of  impressing  the  stranger 
whose  profession  he  had  learned,  he  made  a  speech  in 
which  he  informed  his  employes  how  primitive  were 
the  methods  by  which  the  Works  had  hitherto  been  con 
ducted.  He  would  inaugurate  a  new  school.  He  would 
make  charcoal  by  chemical  process.  He  would  so  reduce 


10  HECLA    SANDWITH 

the  cost  of  manufacturing  iron  that  no  workman  in 
Dunkirk  need  ever  be  idle,  and  Hecla  Furnace  would 
become  more  than  ever  the  great  money-maker  and  pride 
of  the  county. 

The  men  shouted  approval,  while  the  founder  clanged 
the  old  bell — signal  that  the  final  casting  was  to  take 
place.  The  founder  then  threw  his  woolen  skull-cap 
into  the  hearth.  A  general  scramble  ensued,  each  man 
struggling  to  toss  another's  hat  into  the  fire  but  retain 
his  own  as  long  as  possible:  for  all  headgear  must,  ac 
cording  to  tradition,  pay  tribute  by  burning  to  the  old 
year's  run.  The  men,  bareheaded,  watched  the  casting. 

Jerry  Brown,  now  adjusting  his  wooden  face-guard, 
scraped  away  the  cinder  from  the  hearth-stone,  sledged 
a  notch  in  the  fire-clay,  and  into  the  hole  thus  made 
rammed  his  heavy  tapping-bar  and  swayed  it  from  side 
to  side  with  all  the  vigor  of  his  huge  frame,  until 
through  the  breach  issued  a  trickle  of  molten  metal, 
which  grew  in  gush  and  volume  and,  shooting  off  a 
cloud  of  hissing  stars,  flowed  into  the  pig-bed.  A 
blinding  glare  flooded  the  shed,  giving  ghastliness  to 
the  faces  of  the  on-lookers,  as  the  shed  floor  became  a 
gridiron  of  silver  and  ebony.  They  watched  the  bars  as 
the  dazzling  silver  changed  to  lemon  hue  and  through 
the  orange  colors  and  cherry-red  to  the  dingy  purple 
of  hardening  iron.  With  shovelfuls  of  sand  the  helper 
hastened  the  cooling;  the  wooden-shod  gutterman, 
walking  noiselessly  on  the  yielding  floor,  broke  the 
metal  into  lengths;  the  pigs  still  hot  were  piled  into 
a  corner — the  last  litter  of  the  year. 

Richard  Hallett  had  watched  the  curious  scene  with 
interest.  He  had  refused  in  the  beginning  to  take  part 


AS    THE    SPAKKS    FLY    UPWARD         11 

in  the  dram-drinking  and  now,  seeing  that  the  proceed 
ings  threatened  to  take  an  uproarious  turn  for  which 
he  had  no  taste,  bade  David  Sandwith  and  his  men  good 
night  and  continued  on  his  way. 

The  casting  had  sent  a  richer  flood  of  color  into  the 
night  and,  this  slowly  fading  as  the  pig-bed  cooled,  left 
the  road  illumined  as  by  the  light  of  a  thinly-veiled 
moon.  He  approached  The  Bank — a  row  of  workmen's 
cottages  by  the  mill-dam,  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
over  the  hills.  As  he  went  along  he  met  a  troop  of 
girls,  daughters,  sisters  and  sweethearts  of  the  men, 
who  were  hurrying  with  jest  and  laughter  to  the  scene 
of  the  carousings.  Hallett,  smiling  at  their  gay  salutes, 
soon  reached  The  Bank. 

In  front  of  one  of  the  small  stone  cottages  he  no 
ticed  a  knot  of  women.  Something  within  seemed  to 
be  exciting  general  interest.  Hallett,  pausing  for  a 
moment,  saw  through  the  open  door  of  the  little  living- 
room  a  table  on  which  stood  a  large  blossoming  plant 
and  around  this  a  number  of  persons  were  gathered. 
A  strong  over-sweet  perfume  wafted  from  the  plant 
reached  him,  and  he  recognized  that  the  object  of  ad 
miration  in  the  cottage  was  a  night-blooming  cereus. 
One  of  the  women  near  him  said  in  the  nasal  accents 
of  the  region : 

'Ton's  Aunt  Christy's  night-bloomeren'  plant  wot 
Archy  McSwords  brott  her  back  from  the  Mexican  War. 
Step  in  an'  take  a  sniff,  she  won't  charge  ye  nawthen'." 

Before  Hallett  could  acknowledge  this  reassuring  in 
vitation  the  crowd  at  the  door  stood  aside  and  there 
appeared  on  the  threshold  a  young  girl  of  about  twenty, 
whose  appearance  showed  she  belonged  to  a  station  su- 


12  HECLA   SANDWITH 

perior  to  those  about  her.  The  striking  beauty  of  this 
departing  visitor,  upon  whose  regular  features  and  au 
burn  hair  the  bright  cottage  lamplight  fell  as  she  paused 
there,  made  a  picture  the  Englishman  was  ever  to  re 
member.  The  girl,  saying  good  night  to  Christy  Pickle, 
the  proud  owner  of  the  rare  flower,  came  down  the  steps 
accompanied  by  an  old  woman,  evidently  a  family  ser 
vant.  As  she  passed  out  of  the  gate  Richard  Hallett, 
standing  aside,  was  again  impressed  with  her  graceful 
beauty.  She  went  on  into  the  darkness,  and  Christy 
Pickle,  looking  after  her,  remarked  to  one  of  the  by 
standers  : 

"Joshua's  gal  hez  growed  mighty  good-looken'  in  them 
two  years  she  wuz  away  gitten'  school-l'arnen'.  Ah  don't 
know  ez  I'd  a  thott  it  neither  with  that  hair  a  hern." 

"Pity  she's  so  proud-like/'  commented  Peggy  Brown, 
the  founder's  wife. 

"She  ain't  a  hate  more  stuck-up  ner  that  fool  Alpha- 
retta  a  yourn,"  Christy  retorted.  "Proud-like  or  not  ye 
kin  say  this  fer  Heckly  Sandwith,  if  thez  anything  in  the 
family  to  be  did  it's  she  ez  '11  up  and  do  it." 

Richard  Hallett  continued  his  way.  Not  wishing  to 
overtake  the  iron-master's  daughter,  he  slackened  his 
quick,  energetic  step.  He  could  hear  the  two  talking 
in  front  of  him  and  the  girl's  voice  coming  to  him 
through  the  darkness  completed  the  favorable  impression 
Hecla  Sandwith  made  on  the  young  Englishman. 

That  night,  on  his  bed  at  the  Red  Lion,  Richard  Hal 
lett  fell  asleep  curiously  haunted  by  the  perfume  of 
Christy  Pickle's  night-blooming  cereus. 


CHAPTER  II 

JEST   AND  YOUTHFUL   JOLLITY 

Meanwhile  the  girls  whom  Richard  Hallett  had  passed 
on  his  way  to  Dunkirk  had  gained  Hecla  Furnace.  They 
had  patiently  bided  the  illumined  sky,  all  nights  a  far- 
reaching  notification  of  a  casting  taking  place,  but  on 
this  night  a  signal  for  them  to  join  in  the  celebration 
of  the  blowing-out.  At  the  sudden  scarlet  dawn  which 
the  pig-bed  had  made,  Alpharetta  Brown,  the  founder's 
daughter,  had  started  gaily  forth  with  her  companions 
from  The  Bank.  On  they  mirthfully  ran.  The  way 
was  bright  from  the  reflecting  heavens;  puddles  and 
little  rain-filled  ruts  were  red  as  blood;  the  lines  of 
trees  waving  their  branches  in  the  breeze  were  like  mov 
ing  hosts  in  the  quivering  light.  With  welcoming 
shouts  the  men,  amorous  from  liquor,  greeted  the  girls 
at  the  yard  gate,  and  made  ready  to  junket  out  in  the 
air,  now  again  star-moted  with  the  sparks  from  the 
blast-driven  charcoal. 

The  crowd  of  merrymakers  encircled  the  new  boss 
with  hilarious  antics. 

"I  pine,  I  pine,"  he  cried,  starting  that  kissing  game. 

"Who  fer  ?  who  f er  ?"  they  chorused. 

"Alpharetta  Brown,"  he  answered,  to  the  irritation 
of  her  lover,  Archy  McSwords.  Alpharetta  sped  into 
the  darkness  where  the  forfeit  of  the  game  was  secured. 

13 


14  HECLA    SANDWITH 

The  coquette  now  entered  the  ring,  still  breathing 
hard  and  endeavoring  to  do  up  the  knob  of  her  brass-col 
ored  hair,  which  had  become  disheveled  in  the  chase. 
Her  roving  eye  considered  the  hopeful  Archy  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  with  a  toss  of  the  chin  she  sang :  "Ah  pine 
fer  Pap  !"  And  while  the  teamster  ripped  out  a  Mexican 
War  oath,  Jerry  Brown  pursued  Alpharetta  and  bussed 
her  with  all  a  lover's  ardor.  The  founder  must  for  the 
nonce  have  forgotten  his  antipathy  to  daughters  and 
how  he  had  beaten  Peggy  his  wife  on  each  of  the  twelve 
occasions  she  had  obstinately  furnished  him  girls  when 
boys  were  ordered. 

Low  Knott,  the  hunchback,  had  fetched  his  fiddle, 
and,  seated  on  an  upturned  wagon-bed,  sawed  away,  on 
the  worn-out  strings,  Waters  of  Marsh  Creek,  deaf  to 
entreaty  to  vary  the  monotony  of  his  jig.  Uncle  Billy 
Spotts  recounted  to  fat  Mog  Pickle  tales  of  the  pigeon- 
wings  he  had  cut  in  yester  blow-outs;  and  Solomon 
Stitch,  whom  liquor  made  more  wise,  rehearsed  biblical 
reproofs  of  all  such  frivolities. 

The  game  ran  the  gamut  of  hilarity.  The  men  flung 
their  legs  in  air,  stealing  kisses  from  the  screaming 
girls  in  disregard  of  rules.  The  showering  sparks  fell 
unheeded  on  their  heads.  The  moist  night  brewed 
loamy  wood  odors;  from  the  sighing  evergreens  came 
waftures  of  rich  balsam.  Now  and  then  through  breaks 
in  the  wet  sky  shone  the  dim  white  stars  of  spring. 

At  length  Archy  had  his  chance  to  pine  for  Alpha 
retta  ;  but  the  stone-fence  proved  a  handicap  in  the  race, 
and  his  sweetheart  triumphantly  rejoined  the  others. 

"Ye  think  ye  take  the  garter  off  The  Bank  girls,  don't 
ye,  Miss  Sorrel-Top?"  he  sneered. 


JEST   AND    YOUTHFUL   JOLLITY        15 

David  answered  angrily,  telling  him  to  mind  his  man 
ners.  The  game  stopped,  and  the  men  gathered  around 
the  two,  seeing  that  a  fight  was  imminent.  Some  of 
them  suspected  that  Archy  McSwords  had  good  reason 
to  be  jealous  of  Dave,  with  his  taste  for  what  Uncle 
Billy  Spotts  had  called  "girlenV  Old  Mog  Pickle  re 
marked  admiringly  to  Dave :  "Even  ef  ye  ain't  Joshua's 
own  son  ye  hev  his  spunk.  Joshua  wouldn't  take  no 
sass  from  no'un  and  Ah  mind  the  time  when  he  could  'a' 
licked  any  man  from  the  furnace  to  the  Meeten'  House." 

Dave,  his  excitement  mounting,  and  desirous  of  im 
pressing  the  girls,  exclaimed:  "I'll  show  who's  boss 
here!" 

Archy  pulled  off  his  jacket,  the  historic  jacket 
stripped  from  a  fallen  Mexican  foe,  and  began  flapping 
his  arms  and  crowing  out  like  a  game  cock:  "Phil 
Hicks — the  boiler — boom !"  as  a  challenge. 

"Come  on,  Archy !"  cried  Dave. 

They  closed.  Both  were  too  drunk  to  know  what  they 
were  about,  and  the  men  standing  around  were  in  no 
condition  to  insist  on  prize-fighting  rules.  All  followed 
the  struggle  with  lively  interest,  for  it  was  traditional 
among  the  iron  furnaces  that  no  master  could  manage 
his  men  without  having  first  proved  his  physical  su 
periority. 

Two  rounds  were  fought  out.  Dave  had  a  bruised 
cheek,  and  Archy's  lip  spurted  a  bloody  stream.  The 
rivals  were  starting  on  a  final  round  when  out  of  the 
darkness  came  a  shrill  voice : 

"Stop  that  fighten' !" 

The  command  caused  as  much  consternation  as  the  de 
scent  of  Moses  among  the  worshipers  of  the  golden 


16  HECLA   SAKDWITH 

calf.  The  girls  took  to  flight,  scurrying  up  the  ravine 
like  a  covey  of  partridges.  Some  of  the  men  made  shift 
to  appear  indifferent  bystanders :  several  sought  the  se 
clusion  of  the  casting-shed;  and  Jerry  Brown  placed 
himself  between  the  combatants  and  began  loudly  talk 
ing  in  a  hastily-assumed  role  of  peace-maker. 

"Stop  that  fighten' !"  came  the  voice  in  a  shriller  key ; 
and  Christy  Pickle,  Hog's  termagant  wife,  who  had 
hastily  abandoned  her  night-blooming  cereus  when  she 
heard  of  the  scandalous  doings  at  the  furnace,  pushed 
her  way  through  the  crowd,  the  stride  of  her  lean  legs 
cutting  her  rusty  gown  in  sharp  lines. 

"Boys,  boys,  ye  otten  to  quarrel.  Ye  know  'tain't 
right,"  the  founder  continued  in  tones  of  fervent  en 
treaty  . 

"Ah  was  tellen'  'em  not  to  git  to  tighten',  Aunt 
Christy,"  he  said,  as  the  irate  old  woman,  no  respecter 
of  persons,  proceeded  to  belabor  the  culprit's  back. 

"Jerry  Brown,  yer  a  pretty  pusson  to  talk  peaceable, 
with  Peggy  black  and  blue  from  the  last  beaten'  ye  giv' 
her.  Git  home  with  that  fool  rig  a  yourn,"  she  ordered 
Archy  McSwords.  And  then  to  the  young  iron-master : 
"I'm  ashamed  at  ye,  Dave  Sandwith!"  Next  her  eye 
caught  Uncle  Billy  Spotts.  "Ye  poor  wuthless  leav 
en's  of  a  man!"  she  shrilled..  "Ye  otta  to  be  under 
ground  'stead  a-setten'  there  with  Solomon  Stitch  ez 
wuz  shouten'  Glory  no  more  n'r  last  week.  ISTo  wonder 
the  Lord  afflicts  sech  a  backsliden'  specimen.  Off  with 
the  whole  kit  an'  boodle  of  ye,  er" — and  she  paused  to 
give  her  words  awful  weight — "Ah  wun't  lay  out  a  sin 
gle  corpse  a  ye,  mind  wot  Ah  sez !" 

At  this  final  threat  of  The  Bank  undertaker,  the  mefi 


JEST   AND   YOUTHFUL   JOLLITY        17 

began  to  move  off  awkwardly  in  twos  and  threes,  and 
Christy,  striding  over  to  her  spouse,  who  had  listened  un 
concernedly  to  his  wife's  tirade,  bore  him  off  on  his  roll 
ing  fat  legs. 

Within  the  casting-shed  the  slag  continued  to  ooze 
forth  from  the  hearth,  making  a  great  red  puddle  on 
the  black  sand.  Solomon  Stitch  sat  on  in  his  seat  on 
the  cinder-heap,  a  maudlin  melancholy  figure  in  the 
silent  night.  From  time  to  time  his  chin  feebly  nodded 
as  if  to  affirm  the  somber  thoughts  within  him.  The 
trunnel-head  keeper  was  brooding  over  his  sins.  At 
length  one  of  the  showering  sparks  dropped  at  his  feet. 
He  looked  at  this  pensively,  then  raised  his  eyes  to  the 
sky  overhead,  the  words  of  Job  occurring  to  his  mind. 
Job,  like  himself,  had  been  chastened  of  the  Lord. 

"Although  affliction  cometh  not  forth  of  the  dust," 
he  muttered,  "neither  doth  trouble  spring  out  o  the 
ground;  yet  man  is  lorn  unto  trouble,  as  the  sparks  fly 
upward." 


CHAPTEE  III 

HOW   GREAT   A   MATTER   A   LITTLE   FIRE   KIXDLETH ! 

Joshua  Sandwith's  family  coach  rolled  on  its  way  to 
Hecla  Furnace,  which  was  to  be  relighted  that  Sunday 
morning.  The  day  was  full  of  nature's  moral  calm. 
Overhead  continents  of  cloud  hung  motionless  in  the 
deep  cobalt  air.  The  pines,  candled  with  the  sprouts  of 
May,  were  like  wayside  shrines,  and  from  their  sun- 
soaked  needles  rose  the  incense  of  balsam.  The  coach, 
pulled  by  two  well-fed  cobs  known  as  "the  blue  duns," 
caught  the  dazzle  of  the  day  as  it  bowled  along  the  shady 
pike,  the  wheels  cutting  black  cinder-beds  in  which 
lumps  of  furnace-slag  gleamed  like  turquoise. 

The  coach  was  a  battered  old  vehicle  of  substantial 
build,  swung  high  on  leathern  thorough-braces,  with  a 
huge  brake  such  as  the  hill  country  demanded.  Faded 
floral  pieces  adorned  its  yellow  sides  and  the  swelling 
rear  panel  had  an  empty  pistol-case,  reached  from  with 
in  by  a  sliding  door.  There  was,  in  truth,  no  finer  ve 
hicle  in  the  county. 

Noah  Jackson,  a  grizzled  negro  with  a  wen  on  his 
forehead,  sat  on  the  box  driving  the  horses  with  eccen 
tric  jerks  of  the  reins.  He  had  recently  escaped  from 
slavery  and,  finding  Mr.  Sandwith's  home  a  comfortable 
station  of  the  Underground  Eailroad,  had  journeyed  no 

18 


A   LITTLE    FIRE    KINDLETH  19 

farther.  His  new  master  had  labored  to  make  him  a 
Quaker,  but,  failing  in  this,  contented  himself  with 
clothing  his  body  in  Quaker  dress — one  of  his  cast-off 
shadbelly  coats,  and  a  broad-brimmed  beaver,  which 
Noah  wore  on  the  back  of  his  head.  Beside  him  was  a 
round  pink-faced  German,  by  name  Karl,  one  of  the 
iron-master's  numerous  household  proteges.  Within 
the  coach  was  Mr.  Sandwith  himself,  a  vigorous  under 
sized  figure  with  a  sharp  mouth,  bilious  skin  and  curly 
wig,  his  daughter  Hecla,  and  Jervis,  a  child  of  five. 

The  green  satin  curtains  had  been  pushed  aside  from 
the  lowered  windows.  Hecla,  who  had  just  returned 
from  boarding-school,  was  facing  her  father,  one  hand 
resting  in  the  fringed  armstrap  of  the  coach,  as  she 
watched  the  familiar  scenery.  She  had  on  a  ruffled 
silk  gown  of  dark  blue,  a  white-plumed  Leghorn  bon 
net,  and  from  her  shoulders  slipped  a  narrow  white 
shawl  "worn  nicely,"  as  Godey's  Lady's  Book  strictly 
enjoined.  Her  long  snowy  veil  was  thrown  back  over 
her  bonnet  and  only  a  short  one  softened  the  upper 
portion  of  her  face.  Through  this  could  be  seen  the 
mahogany  shadow  of  her  hair,  the  gray  violet-ringed 
eyes,  the  fine  lashes  of  which  made  a  red-gold  mist  on 
the  lids. 

Hecla's  worldly  elegance  was  the  envy  of  Dunkirk 
girls  and  a  source  of  censorious  comment  on  the  part 
of  her  Quaker  uncles  and  aunts.  Hecla  dressed  as  she 
chose,  sharing  her  father's  indifference  to  family  opin 
ion.  She  was  accused  of  having  persuaded  Mr.  Sand 
with  into  acquiring  the  mundane  "pleasure  carriage" 
they  were  now  riding  in,  and  also  of  being  the  cause  of 
a  little  spinet's  occupying  a  shamelessly  conspicuous 


20  HECLA    SANDWITH 

place  in  the  parlors  at  Burnham,  Mr.  S'andwith's  coun 
try  place.  The  spinet  was  famous  in  family  annals.  It 
had  occasioned  the  great  quarrel  between  the  iron-mas 
ter  and  his  brother  Pentecost,  which  was  of  many  years' 
standing.  Hearing  of  the  meditated  indulgence  of 
Joshua's,  Pentecost  had  gone  to  Burnham  to  protest. 

"When  the  spinet  enters  thy  house  thy  brother  ceases 
to  do  so/'  he  had  said. 

"As  thee  pleases,  Pentecost/'  had  been  the  answer. 

The  spinet  arrived  at  Burnham  and  Pentecost  Sand- 
with  kept  his  vow. 

Family  dissatisfaction  with  Joshua  Sandwith  and  his 
ways  began  at  an  early  day  when  the  iron-master  mar 
ried,  despite  his  religious  prejudices,  a  lady  whose  Ham 
ilton  strain  was  like  Passover  blood  on  the  lintels  of 
Dunkirk:  a  guaranty  of  narrow  Presbyterian  respecta 
bility.  This  delicate  woman  from  whom  Hecla  inher 
ited  her  beauty  was  a  widow  with  three  children,  Lucia, 
David  and  Harmony,  who  had  adopted  their  stepfather's 
name  of  Sandwith.  Mrs.  Sandwith  had,  as  the  result  of 
her  husband's  hectoring,  taken  her  seat  in  the  Sand- 
withs'  private  Meeting  House  with  other  members  of  the 
Sandwith  stock.  The  Quaker  clannishness  of  the  latter 
raised  an  insuperable  barrier  to  their  acceptance  of  the 
half -convert.  This  grievance  of  Joshua  Sandwith's  mar 
rying  "out  of  Meeting"  was  only  one  of  a  long  train  of 
offenses  against  family  ideals.  Where  his  brothers  pre 
served  a  frugal  plainness  in  their  households,  he  in 
dulged  amply  in  the  good  things  of  life.  The  resent 
ment  with  which  this  perpetual  interference  of  his  kin 
was  met  strengthened  an  alienation  that  rested  lightly 
on  the  iron-master's  conscience. 


A   LITTLE   FIKE   KIKDLETH  21 

The  first  fruit  of  Joshua  Sandwith's  union  was  a 
daughter,  Hecla,  whom  he  called  after  his  furnace  in 
whimsical  reversal  of  the  custom  among  iron-masters  of 
Pennsylvania  of  naming  their  furnaces  for  female  mem 
bers  of  their  families.  Such  choice  of  prsenomen  was 
regarded  as  one  proof  more  of  his  eccentric  independ 
ence  of  Quakerism.  Quaker  forenames,  curious  as  they 
were,  seldom  departed  from  what  was  odd  in  biblical 
nomenclature:  and  Hecla  was,  according  to  one  of  the 
girl's  aunts,  a  "heathen"  name. 

There  could  not  have  been  born  to  Mr.  Sandwith  a 
daughter  better  adapted  to  his  tastes  and  temperament. 
Self-controlled  by  nature,  Hecla  was  able  to  adjust  her 
self  perfectly  to  his  exacting  character.  Eich  living, 
showing  in  the  dull  dye  of  his  complexion,  had  played 
havoc  with  his  nerves ;  his  nature  vibrated  with  discords 
and  contradictory  moods ;  and  into  the  governance  of  his 
children  entered  an  odd  mixture  of  severity  and  laxi 
ty.  Hecla  as  a  pinafore  maid  had  often  had  her  ears 
— they  were  particularly  pretty  ones — pinched  for  mis 
taking  the  f's  and  s's  in  the  "Verily,  I  fay  unto  you" 
of  her  antique  lesson-book — William  Penn's  No  Cross, 
No  Crown.  Lucia,  with  streaming  eyes,  was  compelled 
to  swallow  the  unwelcome  luxury  of  oysters.  David 
would  have  his  pony  ordered  back  to  the  stable  that  he 
might  be  schooled  early  in  life's  disappointments.  When 
the  children  met  with  accidents  at  play  Mr.  Sandwith 
first  chastised  them  out  of  nervous  solicitude,  then 
solaced  them  with  pocket-pieces.  These  small  martyr 
doms  developed  in  Lucia  and  David  rebellion  and  arts  of 
circumvention,  and  Hecla's  defense  of  her  father  at 
such  times  had  in  their  eyes  all  the  iniquity  of  prig- 


22  HECLA    SANDWITH 

gishness.  This  sensitive  partizanship  on  all  occasions 
expressed  the  intensity  of  a  leading  trait.  Hecla's  af 
fection  for  Mr.  Sandwith  was  unbounded.  Such  in 
deed  was  her  reverence  and  pride  that  she  absorbed  most 
of  his  prejudices  and  views. 

Mr.  Sandwith,  finding  his  daughter  a  congenial  com 
panion,  learned  to  lean  on  her  rather  than  on  his  wife 
who,  weighed  down  by  heroic  housekeeping,  faded  to  a 
shadow  in  the  household.  Her  death  from  premature 
child-birth  caused  by  a  shock  of  lightning  while  out 
driving  with  her  daughter,  then  a  girl  of  fifteen,  was 
Hecla's  first  great  sorrow.  Hecla  had  never  forgotten 
the  horror  of  that  moment:  the  frightened  horses,  her 
mother's  cry  of  terror  for  her  unborn  child;  and  then 
the  dreadful  hours  spent  at  the  farm-house,  the  sus 
pense  of  waiting  for  her  father,  the  doctor's  delay,  Mrs. 
Sandwith's  passing  in  the  cold  dismal  dawn  and  little 
Jervis,  barely  alive,  wailing  in  the  farm-wife's  arms. 
To  the  young  girl  this  occurrence  made  a  lasting,  vital 
impression.  Lightning  became  one  of  the  terrors  of 
her  imagination;  and  over  the  sanctity  of  birth,  over 
marriage  itself,  the  tragedy  spread  a  sable  wing.  The 
shock  of  this  sudden  realization  of  life's  fatalities  had 
left  its  sad  imprint  on  her  face  and  produced  a  morbid 
reserve  of  character  in  respect  to  marriage.  The  trag 
edy  had  likewise  its  maturing  effect.  She  filled  her 
mother's  place  in  the  household — a  place  which  it  had 
been  always  her  instinct  to  assume.  Taking  on  her 
young  shoulders  family  responsibilities,  she  watched 
over  her  father  with  anxiety  and  considered  her 
brothers'  and  sisters'  interests  before  her  own.  Love 
prompted  self-sacrifice  and  increased  her  high  sense  of 


A   LITTLE    FIRE    KIXDLETH  23 

filial  duty;  but  in  the  girl's  soul  dwelt  also,  unrecog 
nized.,  a  disposition  to  rule. 

As  the  coach  rolled  on  Hecla  continued  to  look  out 
of  the  window  with  brooding  eyes  and  an  habitual  half- 
melancholy  line  of  the  lips  until  interrupted  by  her 
father.  His  daughter's  silent  thoughtful  moods  aroused 
in  him  ever  a  querulous  solicitude;  but  to-day  her 
silence  inspired  in  Mr.  Sandwith  a  certain  uneasiness 
about  himself ;  for  he  suspected  that  Hecla  dwelt  on  his 
ill  health.  The  old  iron-master  made  light  of  the  inter 
nal  tumor  which  had  been  the  cause  of  his  retirement 
from  business;  yet  the  thought  that  his  daughter  took 
the  trouble  so  seriously  made  him  nervous.  She  turned 
her  face  to  him  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  with  a  hastily 
summoned  smile,  which  reassured  her  father  and  put 
him  again  quite  at  his  ease.  He  screwed  his  refractory 
brown  wig  into  place,  put  on  his  beaver,  which  he  had 
removed  to  wipe  his  brows,  and  with  a  satisfied  half- 
grunt  of  good  humor  slipped  a  bit  of  tobacco  between 
his  lips.  As  he  did  so  two  distinctive  wrinkles  cut  deep 
into  his  cheek,  parenthesizing  his  angular  mouth. 

"Bemember,  father,  thee  mustn't  chew  in  meeting." 

"It's  the  toothache,  honey." 

Hecla  gave  her  father  another  devoted  smile;  the 
iron-master  was  always  forgetting  he  had  only  artificial 
teeth,  that  produced  the  slight  bur  in  his  speech. 

They  were  now  passing  Mr.  Sandwith's  forge  and 
rolling-mill.  Along  the  road  stood  whitewashed  mule 
stables  stone-built,  the  office  and  supply  store — a  long 
one-story  building  like  a  lock-up — and  overlooking 
these,  against  a  background  of  woods,  a  sober-appear 
ing  limestone  mansion  with  deep  walled-in  lawn. 


2±  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

reached  from  the  road  by  a  flight  of  flag  steps.  This 
was  the  former  home  of  the  Sandwiths,  erected  by 
Hecla's  grandmother  when,  seventy  years  of  age,  she 
had  ridden  with  her  three  sons  into  the  heart  of  the 
Penns}rlvania  wilderness  to  settle  there.  It  was  at  pres 
ent,  much  to  Hecla's  discontent,  Mrs.  Matilda  Little- 
page's  boarding-house.  Mr.  Sandwith's  clerks  and  other 
employes  boarded  there  and  his  stepson  Dave  had  also 
recently  made  it  his  abode  to  be  near  the  Works. 

"Father/'  Hecla  suggested,  "shall  we  not  stop  for 
David?" 

"Thy  brother  should  be  at  the  furnace  waiting  for 
us,  daughter." 

"Suppose  he  hasn't  started?" 

"Let  young  men  use  their  legs." 

After  a  moment  of  thought  Hecla  said  again : 

"Does  thee  think  David  is  comfortable  with  Mrs.  Lit- 
tlepage  ?" 

"I  fear  he  is." 

"Thee  doesn't  wish  David  to  be  uncomfortable, 
father !" 

"Thee  spoils  thy  brother,  Hecla,"  Mr.  Sandwith  re 
joined  testily.  "Dave  is  too  fond  of  his  ease.  A  young 
man  lazy  makes  an  old  man  needy." 

"But  does  thee  think  Mrs.  Littlepage's  boarders  are 
fit  company  for  him  ?" 

"Dave  has  no  time  to  pick  his  company.  The  less  he 
has  the  better." 

This  arrangement  of  David's  boarding  at  Mrs.  Lit 
tlepage's  instead  of  being  at  home  had  been  made 
while  Hecla  was  absent  at  school.  Town  gossip  insinu 
ated  that  Dave  found  the  change  very  agreeable  be- 


A   LITTLE    F1KE    KIXDLETH  25 

cause  of  Clover  Littlepage,  the  pretty  daughter  of  old 
Mrs.  Littlepage,  a  semi-paralytic,  who  kept  the  board 
ing-house.  Hecla  had  heard  from  her  cousin  Hetty 
Wain  of  this  gossip,  but  she  had  prudently  not  told  her 
father.  After  a  pause  she  inquired :  "What  sort  of  girl 
is  Clover  Littlepage,  father?" 

"A  worthy  young  person,  who  teaches  The  Bank 
school." 

"Is  she  pretty?"  Hecla  asked  anxiously. 

"Hecla,  thee  worries  too  much  over  thy  brother !" 

"There  is  no  need  to  worry,"  she  met  this  quickly. 
Hecla  never  admitted  family  concern  however  much  she 
felt  it.  She  always  defended  her  brother  from  Mr. 
Sandwith's  criticism  as  zealously  as  she  defended  Mr. 
Sandwith  from  Dave's  carpings  and  complaints. 

Her  eyes  now  rested  on  her  small  brother  Jervis, 
who,  in  roundabout  and  big-visored  cap,  sat  content 
edly  munching  "meeting  seed"  which  Molly  Tucker,  the 
family  seamstress,  had  given  him  as  entertainment  on 
the  drive.  Jervis  had  won  the  nickname  of  Little 
Pitcher  through  a  grave  habit  of  listening  to  his  elders' 
talk.  It  seemed  to  Hecla,  as  she  gazed  at  him,  that  while 
she  had  been  away  Little  Pitcher  had  grown  more  big- 
eyed  and  sober  and  unlike  other  children.  He  was  a 
constant  reminder  to  Hecla  of  her  mother  and  the 
tragedy  of  his  birth.  Could  the  shadow  of  this  have 
fallen  on  his  life  ? 

"What  is  thee  thinking  about,  Jervis?"  she  asked. 

"Jervis  is  thinking  about  when  his  father  was  a  little 
boy,"  the  child  replied,  speaking  after  his  odd  habit 
in  the  third  person,  as  if  he  contemplated  Jervis  at 
arm's  length. 


26  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

"That  was  a  long  time  ago,  my  son/'  Mr.  Sandwith 
remarked ;  "more  than  half  a  hundred  years." 

"Can  thee  remember  as  long  as  that?" 

"Of  course  father  can;  he  has  a  good  memoiy,  little 
brother." 

The  child  solemnly  considered.  "Jervis  has  not  a 
good  memory,"  he  commented;  "he  can  not  remember 
half  a  hundred  years." 

"What  a  strange  little  Jervis  he  is !"  Hecla  smiled, 
patting  his  cheek.  "Isn't  thee  proud  thee  is  going  to 
light  father's  furnace?" 

The  coach  had  reached  The  Bank  with  its  small 
homes  of  surface  stone  standing  on  the  rolling-mill  dam, 
homes  from  whose  occupants  Mr.  Sandwith  seldom  ex 
acted  rent.  The  houses  had  a  few  feet  of  front  yard  and 
small  hooded  doorways,  over  which  in  summer-time 
Dutchman's  pipe  and  pea-vines  clambered.  From  the 
near-by  slope  of  hill,  where  the  wooden  chapel  of  the 
Evangelical  Brotherhood  was  hidden  by  pine  trees,  a 
cracked  bell  was  pealing.  At  the  foot  of  the  path  leading 
thither  a  flat  black-garbed  figure  waited  for  the  coach  to 
draw  near.  It  was  Christy  Pickle,  virtuously  arrested 
on  her  way  to  church,  a  half-hour  before  service,  at  the 
sight  of  Mr.  Sandwith  in  his  gaily-painted  "pleasure 
carriage."  Christy's  sharp  nose  and  chin,  obtruding 
from  a  rusty  scoop,  bespoke  the  old  woman's  rigid 
righteousness,  befitting  the  day,  and  her  skinny  hand 
grasped  a  huge  hymn-book. 

"Joshua,"  she  shrilled  in  the  voice  of  a  raven  with 
a  split  tongue,  "I  am  ashamed  at  ye  breakin'  the  Lord's 
holy  Sabbath  Day  a-riden'  out  in  yer  corriage  an'  all 
The  Bank  folks  waitin'  round  to  see  the  furnace  started 


A   LITTLE    FIRE    KINDLETH  27 

ez  ott  to  be  preparen'  ther  sinful  souls  fer  wot  the 
pastor  hez  to  say.  Sich  doen's  ain't  right  an'  thez  no 
good  a-goen'  to  come  out  a  it !" 

"Thee  knows,  Christy,"  Mr.  Sandwith  answered 
mildly  from  the  coach  window,  "the  furnace  is  always 
lighted  on  First  Day  for  good  luck.  The  better  the  day, 
the  better  the  deed." 

"I  don't  keer  whether  they  be  ner  been't  luck  in  it. 
/  sez  it  ain't  right  and  otta  to  be  stopped!"  And 
Christy,  her  mind  delivered  and  her  hand  more  tightly 
clasping  her  hymn-book,  mounted  the  hill  like  a  Cu- 
masan  Sibyl  with  fierce  long  strides.  She  left  Mr.  Sand 
with  chuckling  with  amusement. 

"Father,"  Hecla  said  indignantly  as  the  coach  pro 
ceeded  again  on  its  way,  "how  can  thee  let  Christy 
Pickle  speak  to  thee  so  ?" 

"It's  only  her  way,  honey,"  said  her  father.  "There 
isn't  a  better,  kinder-hearted  woman  in  the  world  than 
Christy,  in  spite  of  her  sharp  tongue.  The  Works 
couldn't  be  run  without  Christy  Pickle  to  keep  the  men 
in  order." 

"I  wish  I  didn't  dislike  her  so  much," — and  Hecla 
sighed  over  her  inability  to  share  her  father's  fondness 
for  Mog's  domineering  wife.  Hecla's  grandmother, 
Hannah  Sandwith,  had  taken  Christy  when  a  young 
girl  from  the  House  of  the  Magdalene  in  Philadelphia 
and  had  brought  her  to  Dunkirk.  There  she  had  mar 
ried  Mog  Pickle,  head  roller  at  the  mill,  and  devoted 
her  life  to  doing  good  in  her  own  ill  fashion:  nursing 
the  sick,  laying  out  the  dead  and  keeping  watch  over  the 
virtue  of  The  Bank  girls  and  caring  for  their  unwar 
ranted  offspring. 


28  HECLA   SANDWITH 

Hecla  Furnace,  bathed  in  the  pleasant  May  sun 
shine,  showed  here  and  there  through  its  grime  the  old- 
rose  of  its  sandstone.  Nature  had  partly  made  its  own 
this  monument  to  the  industry  of  Pennsylvania's  pio 
neer  times.  Moss  colored  to  emerald  green  the  mortar 
between  its  rough  irregular  blocks  and  streaked  bridge- 
house  beam  and  roof  of  casting-shed.  Around  the  base 
of  the  open  stone-stack,  grass  and  fern  seed  sown  from 
neighborly  slopes  had  found  nurturing  crevice.  The 
flameless  furnace  suggested  a  half-ruined  watch  tower, 
with  its  shaky  incline  to  the  trunnel-head  of  the  tower's 
drawbridge.  Over  the  scale-house,  not  far  away,  crawled 
an  aged  grape-vine,  its  fresh  spring-touched  tendrils 
wreathing  the  iron  bell  that  announced  the  arrival  of 
ore-laden  wagons  from  the  mine  banks.  The  stock 
yard  was  flanked  by  charcoal  sheds :  long  low  structures 
blackened  to  ebony  by  coal-dust,  with  gloomy  interiors 
on  which  great  bars  of  sunlight  fell  from  the  clearstory. 
The  spot  drowsed  to  the  hymning  of  hemlocks,  which 
threw  the  glen  into  green  twilight.  The  ear  caught  the 
heavy  splash  of  bucket  wheel  fed  by  flume  or  forebay, 
fern-tufted  and  leaking  in  silver  spurts,  that  ran  along 
the  hillside  under  drooping  boughs. 

The  Bank  folk,  as  Christy  had  indignantly  stated, 
were  gathered  to  witness  the  relighting  of  the  furnace : 
the  workmen  paying  tribute  to  the  Sabbath  by  extra 
ablutions  and  clean  collarless  shirts;  the  women  by 
their  best  calicoes  and  sunbonnets.  The  latter  stared 
with  unsparing  curiosity  at  Hecla,  taking  in  every  de 
tail  of  her  costume.  Alpharetta  Brown,  Archy  Mc- 
Swords'  coquettish  sweetheart,  enviously  whispered  to 
the  other  girls  that  the  iron-master's  daughter  had  a 


A    LITTLE    FIRE    KINDLETH  29 

proud  air;  and  her  mother,  Peggy,  disfigured  from  the 
founder's  last  beating,  remarked  that  little  Jervis 
looked  like  "an  early  death."  Hecla  caught  the  latter 
comment  and  with  a  protective  gesture  drew  the  child 
to  her  side. 

"How  cruel  their  tongues  are !"  she  thought  as  she 
gave  Peggy  an  indignant  glance. 

Mr.  Sandwith,  with  a  cheery  "How  does  thee  do?" 
cast  a  quick  eye  around  him.  "Where  is  my  son  David  ?" 
he  demanded  of  Jerry  Brown,  whose  apoplectic  counte 
nance  was  more  purpled  than  usual  from  ceremonial 
scrubbing. 

"Hain't  here  yit,"  the  reply  was,  "but  like  ez  not 
he's  the  next  thing  to  it."  Then  at  the  old  iron-master's 
exclamation  of  impatience:  "It  ain't  exactly  time  fer 
the  lighten'." 

Mr.  Sandwith  at  once  pulled  out  his  heavy  gold  re 
peater. 

"It  is  ten  o'clock." 

"Mebbe  yer  watch  is  fast." 

"Jerry,  thee  knows  I  always  have  the  correct  time !" 

The  founder,  anticipating  trouble  from  Mr.  Sand- 
with's  love  of  punctuality,  sought  a  pretext  to  gain 
grace  for  his  new  employer.  "Lemme  show  the  buster 
ol'  Tippecanoe,"  he  said,  looking  at  Little  Pitcher  with 
ferocious  amiability;  "he  otta  to  be  pleased  like  to  see 
ye,  sonny,  considerin'  yer  goen'  to  light  Heckly  an'  give 
him  a  chancet  to  earn  his  feed."  The  aged  jackass 
whose  mission  in  life  was  to  tug  ore  and  charcoal  in  low- 
wheeled  tipcarts  to  the  trunnel-head  was  wandering 
about  the  stockyard.  The  child  shrank  from  Jerry's 
grinning  visage. 


30  HECLA   SANDWITH 

"It's  time  to  start  the  furnace/'  broke  in  Mr.  Sand 
with  in  his  firm  tones.  "As  my  son  David  is  pleased 
not  to  be  here  at  the  appointed  hour  the  lighting  shall 
be  done  without  him.  Proceed  to  business,  Jerry !" 

"Young  men  ain't  wot  they  useter  was  w'en  we-uns 
was  young,  air  they,  Joshua?"  Uncle  Billy  piped. 
"Well  now,  ef  it  ain't  a  sight  fer  sore  eyes  to  see  Heck- 
ly  ez  Ah  hain't  seed  sence  she  was  no  higher  ner  a  pint 
a  cider.  You've  up  and  growed,  hain't  ye,  sis?"  And 
the  patriarch's  lips  flattened  on  his  two  yellow  tusks  in 
a  smile  of  admiration  at  the  girl's  bloom. 

"Father,  David  will  be  here  presently,"  Hecla  whis 
pered.  "Do  please  wait;  he'll  be  so  disappointed." 

"The  disappointment  will  be  a  lesson  to  him  then," 
Mr.  Sandwith  tartly  returned.  "Come,  my  son,  take 
the  torch  like  a  little  man  and  do  what  Jerry  Brown 
bids  thee." 

But  Little  Pitcher's  grasp  only  tightened  on  his  sis 
ter's  gown  and  his  eyes  stared  in  dread  at  the  smok 
ing  splinter  of  rich  pine  in  the  founder's  hand. 

"Come,  come !"  his  father  said  sharply.  "My  son  re 
fuse  to  do  as  he  is  told !" 

Mr.  Sandwith,  losing  his  temper  at  the  child's  ob 
stinacy,  threatened  to  chastise  him.  Hecla  and  the 
German  entreated  Jervis  to  no  purpose.  The  faces 
about  them  grew  grave:  the  workmen  superstitious- 
ly  interpreted  the  child's  refusal  as  ill-omen.  Solo 
mon  Stitch  shook  a  gloomy  head.  "Out  of  the 
mouths  of  ~bdbes  an'  sucklen's"  he  began,  then  stopped 
in  doubt  of  the  application  of  the  text,  since  Little 
Pitcher  had  not  uttered  a  sound.  Solomon  saw  affliction 
somewhere ;  he  was  not  sure  where. 


A   LITTLE    FIRE    KIKDLETH  31 

Then  Mog  Pickle  removed  his  quid  that  he  might 
give  free  utterance  to  a  suggestion  calculated  to  re 
store  peace. 

"Joshua/'  he  said,  "why  don't  ye  git  Heckly  to  start 
up  ol'  Money  Maker?  Ah  jedge  thez  more  luck  in  her 
lighten'  the  hearth  then  ef  you  go  an'  baste  the  bub 
into  doen'  it.  Hain't  Heckly  named  arter  the  ol'  far- 
brie?  An'  ef  they  ain't  luck  in  given'  her  the  torch, 
then  they  ain't  luck  in  nawthen'." 

The  gallant  proposition  met  with  some  approving 
murmurs.  Whispering  Willie,  the  flint-picker,  his  eyes 
mooning  his  old  master's  daughter,  his  thumbs  stuck 
under  his  gallowses,  seconded  the  suggestion  by  strange 
contortions  of  body  and  hoarse  breathings  of  his  open 
mouth. 

"Light  the  furnace,  Hecla,"  Mr.  Sandwith  fretfully 
conceded.  "Time  is  being  wasted.  A  slothful  son  and  a 
stubborn  child — " 

Hccla  took  the  torch  and  looked  consolingly  at  Jer- 
vis.  "Let  go  my  skirt,  little  brother,"  she  said.  "I  am 
going  to  light  the  furnace  in  your  name." 

The  founder  had  drawn  forward  Low  Knott,  the 
hunchback,  whose  face  wore  a  look  of  pompous  satis 
faction.  "Jest  pass  yer  hand  oncct  over  Low  Knott's 
hump,  sis,"  Jerry  urged.  "He's  allus  mighty  glad  to 
accommodate  an'  et'll  mebbe  take  off  any  hex  they  be  on 
this  here  occasion." 

Hecla  hesitated  to  touch  the  back  Low  Knott  cere 
moniously  presented,  seeking  counsel  from  her  father's 
face.  He  nodded,  and  the  girl  laid  her  fingers  gently 
on  the  hump. 

"Ah  didn't  feel  nawthen',"  the  fiddler  grunted. 


32  HECLA    S'AXDWITH 

"Hub  it  again  oncet,"  Jerry  Brown  commanded; 
and  Hecla  hastily  repeated  the  act. 

All  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  as  she  made  her  way  to 
the  hearth.  She  carried  the  red  smoking  torch  like  a 
priestess  of  spring.  Shafts  of  sunlight  striking  through 
the  loosely-boarded  shed  checkered  her  path.  She  moved 
with  embarrassed  grace,  conscious  of  the  conspicuous 
role  she  had  not  filled  since  childhood  days.  The 
hearth,  cleared  of  its  banked-up  sand  and  cinder,  was 
stuffed  with  shavings  and  charcoal  brands.  Over  it 
hung  an  old  horseshoe :  kismet  of  many  years'  standing. 
She  thrust  the  dripping  splinter  into  the  furnace 
mouth.  There  was  a  sudden  leap  of  flames,  a  loud  roar 
ing  sound  as  the  blast  fanned  the  blaze.  The  workmen 
shouted : 

"She's  caught !  Hurrah  fer  ol'  Money  Maker  !"  The 
founder  shook  the  girl's  hands  with  his  horny  big- 
knuckled  ones,  and  Hecla  joined  her  father  amid  a  mur 
mur  which  expressed  the  feeling  that  the  furnace  had 
been  properly  propitiated. 

On  their  way  from  the  furnace  to  the  Meeting  House 
Hecla  sat  in  silence,  aware  that  a  word  would  draw  as 
from  a  cloud  her  father's  anger.  They  had  driven  some 
distance  down  the  road,  when  Mr.  Sandwith,  whose 
head  had  been  impatiently  thrust  out  of  the  window, 
espied  his  son  coming.  Dave  was  walking  along  in  a 
leisurely  way,  looking  down  at  his  figure — Mr.  Sandwith 
called  it  "admiring  his  shadow."  As  a  matter  of  truth 
Dave  was  inspecting  the  fit  of  his  new  clothes.  He  had 
had  a  night  with  friends,  drinking  his  success  as  iron 
master,  and  a  morning  headache  had  called  forth  the 
sympathy  of  Mrs.  Littlepage  and  her  daughter  Clover : 


A   LITTLE    FIRE    KIXDLETH  33 

he  had  lingered  too  long  to  hear  words  gratifying  to  the 
importance  of  a  young  man. 

"A  pretty  time  for  thee  to  be  sauntering  along !"  Mr. 
Sandwith  burst  forth  when  the  carriage  had  reached  his 
stepson.  But  David  had  his  excuses  already  manufac 
tured  and  he  interrupted  the  iron-mSster's  censure: 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  father.  Archy  McSwords  called 
me  down  to  the  stables  to  see  one  of  the  mules  bled  for 
the  blind  staggers.  I  think  you  might  have  given  me  a 
little  more  time,"  in  a  grieved  voice. 

"More  time!"  was  the  retort.  "Time  was  made  for 
fools  !"  Then  with  quick  interest :  "Which  mule  had  to 
be  bled?" 

"Rube,"  David  replied  with  the  readiness  of  the  ac 
complished  liar. 

The  iron-master  believed  in  the  truthfulness  of  his 
stepson.  Not  to  lie  was  an  integral  part  of  his  own 
Quaker  character :  he  told  the  truth,  as  he  was  fond 
of  asserting,  "to  his  own  hurt."  He  had  dealt  severely 
with  his  children's  small  deceits  of  infancy.  They  were 
cautioned  against  making  promises  they  did  not  purpose 
keeping.  "Break  thy  leg  sooner  than  thy  word,"  was 
Mr.  Sandwith's  manner  of  putting  it.  Knowing  his 
own  integrity,  he  took  the  integrity  of  his  family  for 
granted.  Hecla  had  tried  to  copy  her  father  in  truth- 
telling  and  promise-keeping,  proud  of  the  Sandwith 
reputation  for  conscientious  honesty ;  but  David  was  of  a 
different  sort.  He  had  early  learned  to  impose  on  the 
iron-master's  credulity.  Seated  on  the  edge  of  Mr. 
Sandwith's  bed,  after  an  evening  of  young  men's  fol 
lies,  he  would  pour  out  apocryphal  versions  of  how  he 
spent  his  time. 


34:  HECLA    SANDWITH 

Joshua  Sandwith  lent  an  attentive  ear  to  David's  tale 
of  Archy  McSwords  and  the  stables.  The  fault  of  the  son 
was  forgotten  in  the  illness  of  the  mule ;  a  lack  of  virtue 
in  a  lack  of  health.  It  was  with  all  the  zeal  of  a  veteri 
nary  surgeon  that  he  questioned  Dave  in  his  rapid  lisp 
ing  tones.  .  Hecla,  Relieved,  yet  fearing  the  subject  of 
her  brother's  transgression  was  only  set  aside  for  a  sea 
son,  rose  from  her  seat,  saying  she  would  like  to  walk 
the  rest  of  the  way  to  Meeting  if  David  would  accom 
pany  her. 

"How  could  you  be  late?"  she  cried  reproachfully, 
as  the  coach  rolled  ponderously  off  with  Spot,  the  coach- 
dog,  trotting  behind.  "You  know  how  punctual  father 
is  and  how  vexed  he  gets  at  delays.  The  doctor  particu 
larly  urged  that  he  be  saved  from  excitement,  and  I 
think,  Dave,  you  might  have  shown  more  considera 
tion  !" 

"If  you  got  out  of  your  carriage  to  lecture  me  you  had 
better  have  kept  your  seat,"  her  brother  returned.  Then, 
in  amends  for  his  rudeness,  he  added:  "Thee  is  look 
ing  thy  best  to-day,  Hecla,"  using  the  plain  speech 
they  occasionally  adopted  toward  each  other. 

"Thank  thee,  Dave,"  Hecla  smiled.  Then  she  added : 
"Jervis  refused  to  light  the  furnace,  and  I  had  to  take 
his  place." 

"Well,  what  if  you  did  ?" 

"I  feared  you  would  regard  it  as  an  ill  omen." 

"Hecla,  you  are  as  bad  as  Solomon  Stitch,  with  your 
superstitions  and  forebodings,"  he  laughed. 

"It  didn't  worry  me,  Dave,  but  you  know  father  be 
lieves  in  luck." 


A   LITTLE   FIBE   KINDLETH  35 

"Then  that  settles  it/'  he  said  in  mock  despair.  "The 
furnace  is  doomed  and  ruin  will  come  to  us  all !" 

They  walked  on,  David  telling  Hecla  of  his  business 
schemes.  A  final  bend  of  the  shady  pike  brought  them 
in  sight  of  the  old  family  Meeting  House. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   MOVING   OF   THE   SPIRIT 

The  Sandwith  Meeting  House  stood  a  biscuit-toss 
from  the  turnpike,  on  the  edge  of  the  county  town  of 
Dunkirk,  near  which  Joshua  Sandwith  lived.  Behind 
it  abruptly  rose  a  hill,  its  top  crowned  by  the  town 
Academy.  The  classic  edifice,  reached  by  meandering 
steps  cut  in  the  rock,  overlooked  Dunkirk.  In  selecting 
this  fine  site  of  learning  one  thing  had  been  neglect 
ed — the  need  of  playgrounds  for  the  satchel-laden  youth, 
who  daily  toiled  up  the  town's  acropolis  to  the  chime  of 
the  old  cracked  bell.  At  recess  hour  the  children  looked 
longingly  at  the  spacious  yard  of  the  Meeting  House, 
surrounded  by  its  high  stone  wall,  with  the  iron  wicket 
kept  vigilantly  locked  by  the  gray-haired  sexton,  Jesse 
Gallespie.  The  trustees  of  the  Academy  coveted  the 
Sandwith  property  as  Ahab  coveted  the  vineyard  of  Xa- 
both  and  had  on  several  occasions  made  tempting  offers 
for  its  purchase. 

The  Meeting  House  was  a  modest  little  building, 
looking  much  like  a  one-story  cottage.  It  was  built  of 
mountain  stone  and  over  its  mossy  eaves  a  clump  of 
aged  pines  spread  great  branches — the  wings  of  Peace. 
Two  small-paned  windows  with  white  blinds  flanked 
the  narrow-hooded  portal  gained  by  foot-worn  flags.  It 

36 


THE   MOVING   OF   THE    SPIRIT          3? 

had  been  the  first  pious  act  of  Hannah  Sand  with  on 
coming  to  central  Pennsylvania  to  rear  this  house  of 
prayer,  where  she  and  her  descendants  might  worship 
in  accordance  with  the  tenets  of  George  Fox.  It  stood 
as  the  only  monument  to  Quakerism  in  a  region  al 
most  wholly  settled  by  Scotch-Irish  Calvinists. 

The  Meeting  House  door,  with  its  antiquated  latch, 
stood  ajar  this  First  Day  morning  as  Hecla  and  Dave 
turned  their  steps  thither.  Inside  was  a  tiny  vestibule, 
having  two  swinging  doors.  Hecla  and  her  brother,  sep 
arating,  entered  opposite  sides  of  a  wooden  partition  di 
viding  male  from  female. 

Dave  took  a  vacant  seat  near  the  entrance.  Meeting 
had  already  begun  and  he  received  the  reproving  glances 
of  his  uncles,  Pentecost  and  Gideon,  in  the  gallery.  His 
seat  chanced  to  be  next  Richard  Hallett,  the  stranger 
who  had  arrived  a  few  weeks  before  at  Dunkirk. 

The  congregation  was,  as  a  rule,  small,  being  mostly 
limited  to  the  Sandwith  family,  part  of  their  kin  and  a 
few  townspeople  of  no  particular  persuasion,  like  Doctor 
Proudfoot,  who  was  wont  to  say  he  came  for  an  hour's 
rest  after  an  arduous  week  of  country  practice.  Quar 
terly  Meeting,  however,  added  visiting  Friends — evan 
gelists  on  whom  the  Meeting  depended  for  special  dis 
pensations  of  grace.  This  was  now  in  session  and  the 
building  was  filled  with  worshipers.  Some  of  these  were 
Dunkirk  folk,  drawn  to-day  by  curiosity  to  see  Benjamin 
Truelove,  a  Quaker  preacher  of  eloquent  address  and 
having  repute  as  a  seer — a  quality  now  rarely  attached 
to  f  ollowers  of  George  Fox. 

Richard  Hallett  had  heard  with  some  interest  of  the 
Quaker  seer  who,  notwithstanding  his  youth,  was  held 


38  HECLA   SAXDWITH 

in  high  respect  for  his  inspired  "messages,"  but  it  was 
less  Benjamin  Truelove  that  brought  him  to  Meeting 
this  morning  than  his  desire  to  see  again  Hccla  Sand- 
with,  the  girl  who  had  made  such  a  decided  impression 
on  him  the  night  of  his  journey  to  Dunkirk.  XGW,  in 
the  characteristic  silence  that  had  fallen  on  the  assem 
blage,  he  curiously  examined  his  surroundings. 

There  was  something  pleasing  in  the  appearance  of 
the  Meeting  House  interior,  despite  the  extreme  plain 
ness.  Eows  of  unpainted  deal  benches,  cushioned  here 
and  there  on  the  women's  side  in  sage-colored  moire  an 
tique,  faced  a  tier  of  seats  railed  off  from  the  body  of 
the  Meeting  and  reserved  for  elders  and  approved  min 
isters  of  the  Gospel.  Fastened  to  the  railing  on  the 
men's  side,  near  the  wooden  gate,  was  a  lidded  box  in 
which  the  minutes  of  the  Meeting  were  kept.  Wood 
stoves,  their  crooked  pipes  passing  through  the  ceiling, 
were  set  into  alcoves  in  the  nnpapered  walls  of  refresh 
ing  whiteness.  A  green  carpet  of  unobtrusive  sprig  cov 
ered  the  floor,  with  a  few  brown  sheepskin  rugs  added 
for  the  special  comfort  of  aged  Quakeresses.  Green 
Venetian  shades  half  rolled  up  hung  on  windows,  the 
small  square  lights  of  which  were  opalescent  with  weath 
er.  Through  the  green  slats  the  bright  May  day  trem 
bled  in  drops  of  molten  gold,  and  moted  sunbeams 
searching  the  partial  gloom  fell  discreetly  on  the  heads 
of  the  congregation,  where  plain  bonnets  and  broad- 
brimmed  beavers  mixed  with  the  gay  headgear  of  the 
World's  People. 

The  sliding  panels  of  the  wood  partition  which  in 
sured  the  privacy  of  male  and  female  respectively  during 
Sittings  for  Discipline  were  pushed  up.  Through  this 


THE    MOVIXG    OF   THE    SPIRIT          39 

the  heads  of  worshipers  on  each  side  could  be  seen  as  in 
a  picture-frame  and  also  those  who  occupied  the  more 
elevated  benches  of  the  gallery  running  the  room's 
length. 

It  was  Hecla's  first  attendance  at  Meeting  since  her 
return  from  Lititz,  where  she  had  received  religious  in 
struction  of  the  Moravian  Sisters  who  conducted  that 
fashionable  seminary.  Memories  now  came  back  to  her 
of  the  long  hours  she  had  spent  in  the  old  Meeting 
House — the  First  Days  and  the  Fourth  Days,  when  the 
waiting  before  the  Lord  had  only  occasionally  been 
broken  by  her  Uncle  Pentecost's  sermon  or  her  Aunt 
Deborah's  prayer.  She  recalled  with  what  impatience 
she  had  watched  a  certain  sunbeam  creep  over  the  carpet 
until  it  reached  a  spot  which  generally  marked  the  time 
when  Meeting  broke  up.  Others  besides  herself  had  as 
impatiently  followed  its  slow  progress,  and  if  the  mo 
ment  failed  of  the  desired  result,  faint  coughs  and  mild 
shuffling  of  the  feet  added  their  hint  to  the  solar  ray. 

The  responsibility  of  terminating  youthful  penance 
was  vested  on  account  of  his  years  in  Hecla's  Cousin 
Isaac — dearest  of  meek  earthly  souls — who  sat  on  the 
elders'  bench,  and  in  all  but  the  mildest  weather  wore 
his  gray  Shetland  shawl.  The  actions  of  Cousin  Isaac 
were  anxiously  watched  at  such  crises.  During  the  long 
periods  of  silence  he  sat  with  arms  folded  and  eyes 
closed,  apparently  asleep.  From  time  to  time  he  would 
rouse  himself,  open  his  eyes,  pass  a  hand  over  a  long 
lock  of  silken  white  hair  on  his  bald  head  and  look  med 
itatively  at  his  hat,  which  he  placed  always  on  the  seat 
beside  him;  after  which  he  would  relapse  into  seeming 
slumber.  These  performances,  which  raised  false  hopes 


40  HECLA    SANDWITH 

in  juvenile  bosoms,  were  at  last  terminated  by  the  gen 
tle-faced  elder  reaching  out  his  hand  for  his  beaver, 
placing  it  on  his  head  and  then  saying  with  a  benig 
nant  smile,  "I  think  it  is  about  the  usual  hour."  This 
monitor  of  passing  time  now  himself  waited  with  folded 
arms  for  eternity  in  the  greater  Silence  of  the  Friends' 
burying-ground  on  the  top  of  a  high  hill  bulwarking 
Dunkirk. 

Hecla  used  to  employ  herself  studying  the  familiar 
traits  and  peculiarities  of  her  family  at  large  as  she  sat 
through  the  trying  hour.  On  the  elders'  bench  was  Gid 
eon  Sandwith,  her  severe-visaged  bachelor  uncle,  who 
had  a  habit  of  lapping  one  thumb  over  the  other  on  his 
knitted  palms  with  machine-like  regularity.  Often  as 
she  watched  him  and  his  unchanging  expression  Hecla 
wondered  what  mysterious  hard  thoughts  were  concealed 
under  that  stony  facial  mask.  On  the  tier  above  sat 
her  Uncle  Pentecost.  He  had  given  up  law  because  of 
"conscientious  scruples,"  and  had  since  become  an  "ac 
credited  minister  of  the  Gospel."  Hecla  might  always 
know  when  he  was  going  to  address  the  Meeting  by  the 
preliminary  muscular  twitches  of  his  cheeks,  whose 
loose  skin  hung  down  in  folds,  giving  his  face  the  large 
solemn  dignity  of  a  mastiff's.  On  the  opposite  side  of 
the  partition,  also  on  the  preachers'  bench,  sat  Pente 
cost's  wife,  Deborah,  her  round  face  having  a  serious 
calm.  She  dressed  richly — no  one  was  more  particu 
lar  than  Friend  Deborah  about  the  exact  shade  of  her 
plain  silk  gown — and  wore  often  in  summer,  hidden 
under  her  immaculate  Swiss  kerchief,  a  white  tea-rose. 
Hecla  liked  in  her  aunt  this  one  little  departure  from 
the  rigors  of  her  faith. 


THE    MOVING   OF   THE    SPIRIT          41 

Beside  Hecla  to-day  sat  Harmony,  her  half-sister, 
wearing  the  bonnet,  with  its  wreath  of  pink  rosebuds, 
Hecla  had  brought  her  from  Philadelphia — Hecla's  own 
selection  rather  than  the  one  Harmony,  with  her  love 
of  quiet  dress,  would  have  made.  A  short  distance  off 
was  her  pretty  young  cousin,  Hetty  Wain,  ward  of  Gid 
eon  Sand  with,  to  keep  in  whose  good  graces  Hetty  wore 
the  plainest  of  plain  Quaker  costumes.  Hecla  could 
see,  too,  her  father,  and  the  contented  set  of  his  mouth 
told  her  that  the  bit  of  tobacco  was  still  under  his 
tongue.  From  beneath  his  seat  came  a  slight  snoring 
sound  made  by  Spot,  the  coach-dog,  who  always  man 
aged  to  slip  into  Meeting  unobserved.  Whenever  there 
was  a  disturbance  of  barking  outside  Spot,  quietly  trot 
ting  out  of  the  door,  would  disperse  the  disturbers  and, 
returning  to  his  place,  resume  the  snores  Hecla's  Aunt 
Deborah  found  so  annoying. 

Hecla's  wandering  thoughts,  this  First  Day  morning, 
were  gradually  brought  back  by  the  unwonted  solemnity 
of  the  Meeting.  The  presence  of  Benjamin  Truelove 
seemed  to  exert  a  peculiar  influence  over  the  gathering. 
The  young  evangelist  had  been  given  a  place  on  the  up 
per  bench  of  the  gallery  where  now  sunbeams,  as  if  by  di 
vine  direction,  haloed  his  head;  the  glorified  uplift  thus 
given  his  countenance  separating  him  from  the  other 
visiting  Friends  beside  him.  He  was  of  a  medium 
height,  slightly  tending  toward  a  rich  fleshiness,  with 
a  serene  set  to  his  full  lips,  and  having  a  clear  high 
brow  about  which  lustrous  hair — the  fine  blue-black 
hair  of  the  enthusiast — showed  under  his  hat.  He  sat 
motionless,  his  hands  folded  on  his  knees  and  his  eyes 
closed.  Thus  seated  he  seemed  indeed  an  absorbed  fig- 


42  HECLA    SANDWITH 

ure  of  holy  sensuous  young  manhood.  In  the  hypnotic 
quiet  rose  and  fell  the  soughing  of  the  pines  outside 
like  even  sounds  of  sleep,  and  occasionally  came  the 
stamp  of  horses  in  the  Meeting  House  shed.  When 
a  worshiper  coughed  or  made  any  slight  stir,  it  acted 
almost  like  a  shock  on  the  tense  atmosphere  of  the  room. 

At  last  the  waiting  was  ended  by  a  movement  on 
the  part  of  the  young  preacher ;  he  laid  aside  his  beaver 
and  rose.  For  a  while  he  stood  with  his  clear  eyes  fixed 
in  front  of  him  and  one  hand  resting  on  the  rail.  As 
he  so  stood  moisture  gathered  on  his  brow.  To  some  the 
clustering  drops  marked  his  inspiration — were  as  the 
dews  of  Hermon.  It  was  perhaps  half  a  minute  before 
he  spoke,  and  when  he  did  the  low  melodious  tones 
seemed  a  continuance  of  the  quiet  into  which  the  spirit 
had  been  dipped.  It  was  an  inebriating  voice,  of  the 
most  golden  music.  Under  its  exquisite  cadences  the 
congregation  was  soothed  into  a  kind  of  happy  lethargy, 
as  though  lotus  food  of  sound  were  given  them  of  the 
Lord.  The  effect  of  this  showed  in  the  expression  of 
people's  eyes  dwelling  on  the  preacher.  Benjamin  True- 
love's  words — a  mixture  of  scriptural  and  original  im 
agery — were  a  rapt  invocation  to  the  Almighty  in  com 
plete  forgetfulness,  it  seemed,  of  his  auditors : 

"It  is  in  my  heart  to  praise  Thee,  0  my  God ;  let  me 
never  forget  Thee,  what  Thou  wast  to  me  in  the  night,  by 
Thy  presence  in  the  day  of  trial  when  I  was  beset  in 
darkness,  when  I  was  cast  out  as  a  wandering  bird,  when 
I  was  assaulted  with  strong  temptations,  then  Thy  pres 
ence  in  secret  did  preserve  me,  and  in  a  low  state  I  felt 
Thee  near  me.  When  the  floods  sought  to  sweep  me  away, 
Thou  didst  set  a  compass  for  them  how  they  should  pass 


THE    MOVIXa    OF   THE    SPIRIT          43 

over.  When  my  way  was  through  the  sea  and  when  I 
passed  under  the  mountains,  there  wast  Thou  present 
with  me.  When  the  weight  of  the  hills  was  upon  me, 
Thou  beheldst  me,  else  had  I  sunk  under  the  earth.  When 
I  was  as  one  altogether  helpless,  when  tribulation  and 
anguish  were  upon  me,  day  and  night,  and  the  earth 
without  foundation;  when  I  was  on  the  way  of  wrath, 
and  passed  by  the  gate  of  hell,  when  all  comforts  stood 
afar  off,  and  he  that  is  mine  enemy  had  domination; 
when  I  was  cast  into  the  pit,  and  was  as  one  appointed 
to  death,  when  I  was  between  millstones,  and  as  one 
crushed  with  the  weight  of  the  adversary;  as  a  father 
Thou  wast  with  me ;  Thou  wast  the  rock  of  my  presence. 
When  the  mouths  of  the  lions  roared  against  me  and 
fear  took  hold  of  my  soul  in  the  pit,  then  I  called  upon 
Thee  daily;  Thou  answeredst  me  from  Thy  habitation, 
saying,  'I  will  set  thee  above  all  fears,  and  lift  up  thy  feet 
above  the  head  of  oppression.'  I  believed  and  was 
strengthened,  and  Thy  word  was  salvation.  Thou  didst 
fight  on  my  part  when  I  wrestled  with  death,  and  when 
darkness  would  have  shut  me  up,  then  the  light  shone 
upon  me,  and  Thy  banner  was  over  my  head.  When  my 
work  was  in  the  furnace  as  I  passed  through  fire,  by 
Thee  I  was  not  consumed,  though  the  flames  ascended 
above  my  head;  else  through  fear  I  had  fallen.  I  saw 
Thee,  and  believed,  so  the  enemy  could  not  prevail." 

As  he  spoke,  the  preacher's  body  swayed  slightly  in 
sympathy  with  the  rhythmic  sentences  and  his  face 
shone  with  almost  lamplike  fervor.  After  he  sat  down 
the  wave  of  silence  which  had  rolled  away  returned  to 
settle  on  the  surface  of  depths  undisturbed.  It  was  not 
until  a  horse  whinnied  loudly  that  his  hearers  breathed 


44  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

easily.  Some  glancing  around  sought  in  the  looks  of 
others  explanation  of  their  own  affected  state. 

Hecla  had  noticed  that  her  sister  Harmony  was  giv 
ing  rapt  attention  to  the  preacher ;  that  the  color  grad 
ually  faded  as  she  listened  and  her  lips  moved  from  time 
to  time  as  if  they  framed  some  inaudible  sentence.  Har 
mony  was  the  youngest  of  Mr.  Sandwith's  step-children. 
Her  pale  face,  in  which,  under  a  pure  brow,  were  set 
earnest  chestnut  eyes,  wore  always  the  sweet  expression 
of  one  who  accepts  uncomplainingly  the  burdens  of  life. 
Gentle  girlhood  saddened  by  some  secret  pain  showed  on 
the  rather  irregular  mouth,  and  Harmony's  smile,  full 
of  kindness,  had  its  half-pathos.  Once  Hecla  thought 
she  heard  her  sister  murmur :  "Oh,  if  I  were  only  good 
— only  good  like  thee !" 

The  appealing  eyes  that  Harmony  had  fixed  on  Ben 
jamin  Truelove's  countenance  as  he  sat  on  the  bench 
above  her  seemed  finally  to  have  an  effect  upon  him.  On 
finishing  his  invocation  to  the  Lord  he  had  reseated  him 
self  and  sunk  into  meditation.  Suddenly  he  opened  his 
eyes  as  if  startled  by  some  plea  falling  on  his  inner  ear. 
Rising,  he  leaned  across  the  rail  in  front  of  him  and 
let  his  eyes  deeply  search  the  faces  assembled.  Then  in 
a  clear  mandatory  tone  he  uttered  the  brief  words: 
"Cease  desiring  and  be!" — with  which  he  took  once 
more  his  seat. 

The  abrupt  command  stirred  the  Meeting.  It  was  as 
if  some  answer  had  been  made  to  a  wish  or  exercise  of 
conscience  in  its  midst.  Those  of  Quaker  persuasion 
anxiously  searched  their  hearts,  thinking  Benjamin 
Truelove  had  addressed  their  state.  It  was  on  Harmony, 
however,  that  the  effect  of  the  preacher's  words  was  most 


THE    MOVING   OF   THE    SPIRIT          45 

marked.  It  seemed  to  the  sensitive  girl  he  had  heard 
the  inaudible  prayer  that  had  instinctively  moved  her 
lips.  She  trembled  at  the  thought  that  he  had  not  only 
heard,  but  had  been  incited  by  Heaven  thus  to  answer 
her  spiritual  longing. 

"Harmony,  what  is  the  matter — are  you  ill?"  Hecla 
whispered  in  concern,  for  her  stepsister's  delicate  hands 
were  wrung  together  on  her  lap. 

She  received  no  answer.  Harmony  had  not  heard ;  and 
her  eyes,  still  fixed  upon  the  young  evangelist,  were  full 
of  tears. 

After  Meeting  there  was  general  hand-shaking  and 
Friend  greeted  Friend  with  a  "How  does  thee  do  ?"  out 
side  in  the  yard.  Human  nature  asserted  itself  after  the 
hour  of  suppression  and  the  low  talk  with  most  took  an 
every-day  tone  after  a  few  pious  comments  Avere  ex 
changed  like:  "A  searching  discourse,"  "Much  favored 
by  the  Spirit  to-day,"  "The  Lord  has  been  with  us,"  as 
tribute  to  what  had  just  been  heard.  The  men  fell  into 
knots  to  discuss  the  weather  and  the  state  of  the  crops, 
and  careful  housewives  exchanged  recipes. 

Harmony  sought  to  escape  the  notice  of  those  stand 
ing  about  the  Meeting  House  door,  but  her  pretty  cousin, 
Hetty  Wain,  dressed  in  the  plain  costume  her  uncle 
Gideon  Sandwith  enforced,  saw  her  and  caught  hold  of 
her  sleeve. 

"So  thee's  got  on  the  new  bonnet  Hecla  brought  thee 
from  Philadelphia !"  she  said  enviously.  "What  a  pity 
pink  makes  thee  look  pale !" — then  noticing  Harmony's 
serious  face :  "Why,  what's  the  matter — isn't  thee  feel 
ing  well  ?" 


46  HECLA   S'ANDWITH 

"Weren't  you  impressed  with  Benjamin  Truelove's 
sermon,  Hetty  ?"  Harmony  murmured. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so/'  was  the  other's  reply,  "but  I 
couldn't  help  worrying  over  the  goose  in  the  oven  at 
home.  I'm  sure  it's  burnt  to  a  crisp — and  six  Friends  to 
dinner !" — and  she  ran  off  gaily. 

The  Englishman  who,  though  a  stranger  to  all  present, 
had  received  kindly  greeting  from  many,  was  passing  out 
of  the  little  iron  wicket  of  the  Meeting  House  yard  when 
Joshua,  the  iron-master,  stopped  him,  saying  cordially: 

"Thee  is  Eichard  Hallett,  is  thee  not?  My  nephew, 
Wentworth  Oliver,  has  told  me  of  thy  wish  to  study  our 
industries.  He  must  bring  thee  to  my  house.  Hecla, 
here  is  the  young  English  stranger  of  whom  thy  cousin 
spoke  to  us." 

Hecla's  violet-gray  eyes  encountered  Hallett's  long 
enough  to  observe  the  admiration  written  there ;  and  she 
said  with  some  embarrassment:  "I  believe  I  saw  you 
the  night  of  your  arrival  in  Dunkirk.  Did  you  not  stop 
at  one  of  the  cottages  near  the  Works  to  see  a  night- 
blooming  cercus  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "and  I  shall  never  forget  what  I  saw." 

Others  approached  to  welcome  Hecla  home  after  her 
long  absence  at  school  and  Eichard  Hallett,  thanking 
the  iron-master  for  his  invitation,  turned  away.  He  had 
met  Hecla  Sandwith  and  the  meeting,  brief  as  it  was, 
strengthened  the  charm  she  exercised  over  him.  He 
thought  her  even  more  beautiful  than  when  he  caught 
his  first  glimpse  of  her  on  the  threshold  of  Christy 
Pickle's  cottage.  He  admired  the  pure  tones  of  her  voice, 
and  her  eyes  with  their  suggestion  of  melancholy  seemed 
to  him  extraordinary — more  interesting  than  those  of 


THE    MOVING-    OF    THE    SPIRIT          47 

any  young  girl  he  knew.  He  resolved  to  ask  Mr.  Sand- 
witlrs  nephew  to  take  him  to  Burnham  early  in  the  week. 

"Mr.  Hallett  isn't  especially  good-looking,  is  he, 
father  ?"  Hecla  said  to  her  father  on  their  way  home. 

"Beauty  buys  no  beef/'  Mr.  Sandwith  dryly  returned. 
"Thee  thinks  too  much  of  appearances,  daughter.  Eich- 
ard  Hallett  has  what's  better  than  beauty — an  honest 
face.  It's  the  man  of  integrity  that  shines  brightest  in 
the  lire,  as  William  Pcnn  says." 

Hecla  smiled.  She  was  thinking  of  Richard  Hallett's 
words  to  her. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  STRAIN   OF  RARENESS 

Richard  Hallett's  first  visit  upon  arriving  at  Dunkirk 
had  been  to  the  offices  of  Wentworth  Oliver,  a  young 
lawyer  with  whom  Hallett  had  had  some  correspondence 
before  leaving  England.  Wentworth  was  attorney  for 
the  Snow  Shoe  Coal  Company,  which  had  been  formed 
several  years  previously  with  the  object  of  developing 
certain  mountain  regions  near  Dunkirk.  The  company 
had  invested  considerable  capital  in  a  coal  mine  and  had 
negotiated  with  the  Englishman  with  a  view  of  offering 
him  the  management  of  its  affairs.  Negotiations  had, 
however,  been  broken  off.  The  mine  in  which  the  pro 
moters  had  such  confidence  suddenly  pinched  out. 
Wentworth  wrote  of  this  to  Richard  Hallett,  telling  him 
that  the  company  was  discouraged  and  its  capital  ex 
hausted.  Hallett  had  perfectly  understood  the  situation, 
but  having  become  interested  in  what  Wentworth  had 
written  him  regarding  the  mining  and  timber  resources 
of  central  Pennsylvania  he  had  made  up  his  mind  he 
would  come  out  to  America  and  look  over  the  ground  for 
himself.  Dissatisfaction  with  the  work  he  was  engaged 
in  had  inspired  the  resolve.  In  a  new  and  promising  re 
gion  he  hoped  he  would  find  opportunities  worthy  his 
energy  and  talent.  Wentworth  had  received  him  most 

48 


A   STRAIN   OF   RARENESS  49 

cordially  and  promised  to  put  him  in  touch  with  his 
uncle,  Joshua  Sandwith,  and  with  Mr.  Trevis  Markham, 
a  countryman  of  Hallett's  living  in  a  rather  remote  part 
of  the  Alleghanies :  both  of  them  influential  land-hold 
ers  and  men  of  affairs  in  the  county. 

It  was  also  through  Wentworth  Oliver's  suggestion 
that  Hallett  took  up  his  abode  at  Mrs.  Tathem's  board 
ing-house,  as  preferable  to  the  Eed  Lion  Inn.  Mrs.  Tat 
hem's  was  the  only  boarding-house  in  Dunkirk,  far  Mrs. 
Littlepage's,  where  David  Sandwith  had  quarters,  was 
out  near  the  Sandwith  Works.  It  occupied  what  was 
considered  an  enviable  position  at  the  corner  of  the  main 
street  of  the  town  and  the  Diamond.  If  you  tired  of 
the  dullness  of  a  side  street  you  sat  on  Mrs.  Tathem's 
broad  door-sill  and  saw  all  that  was  going  and  had  the 
very  latest  gossip  furnished  you  by  Miss  Pinkie. 

In  response  to  Richard  Hallett's  knock  at  Mrs.  Tat 
hem's  an  old  woman  appeared,  her  slovenly'f  rock  hitched 
up  on  one  side  displaying  a  white  cotton  leg  to  the  knee. 
On  seeing  the  stranger,  liatey  Lookup,  as  she  was  un 
kindly  called,  elevated  her  chin  in  what  Richard  Hallett 
took  to  be  disdain.  Katey  was  said  in  Dunkirk  to  have 
flowing  in  her  veins  the  blood  of  Danish  kings ;  but  the 
old  woman  did  not  prize  her  alleged  extraction  and  was 
equally  indifferent  to  her  afflicted  vision,  which  caused 
her  to  tilt  back  her  head  so  oddly.  She  slaved  for  Mrs. 
Tathem  and  had  two  passions :  one  for  feeding  stray  cats 
from  her  mistress'  larder ;  the  other  for  chasing  taunting 
little  boys  with  her  broomstick.  She  admitted  the  Eng 
lishman  with  a  kind  of  grunt, 

Mrs.  Tathem's  house  seemed  to*Hallett  to  be  a  curi 
ously  crowded  antique  shop.  There  was  abundance  of 


50  HECLA   S'ANDWITH 

Chippendale,  Wedgcwood,  Delft  and  Copeland  ware 
about;  odd  old  mirrors,  and  other  heirlooms  of  price. 
These  Mrs.  Tathem  cherished  as  a  careful  housekeeper 
guards  what  can  not  well  be  replaced  by  other  chattels, 
old  or  new.  The  long  heavily-carved  mahogany  sofa 
in  the  hall  had  a  great  gash  in  its  haircloth  upholstery. 
No  one  was  able  to  say  what  had  not  been  lost  in  this 
historic  hole.  It  was  a  handsome  piece  of  furniture,  but 
Mrs.  Tathem  would  gladly  have  disposed  of  it  for  a  good 
modern  piece.  She  felt  the  same  temper  toward  the  gilt 
reflectors  that  elongated  people's  looks,  and  she  would 
have  preferred  new  uneccentric  mirrors  in  which  she 
could  see  herself  to  advantage.  The  great  fire-dogs  and 
fenders  on  the  hearth  under  the  white  wooden  mantel 
pieces  with  their  crystal  girandoles  only  reminded  her  of 
a  want  of  whiting.  She  approved  of  her  cream  pitchers 
— silver  cows  with  curled  tails  and  noses  that  gurgled 
milk — since  they  afforded  her  boarders  polite  amuse 
ment. 

Mrs.  Tathem  approved  of  well-bred  spirits.  Amia 
bility  had  marked  her  for  its  own.  Nature  had  also 
spared  the  good  lady  the  trouble  of  having  to  look 
pleased.  The  fixed  smile  on  her  lips,  about  which  little 
eddyings  played,  proclaimed  her  perpetual  graciousness. 
To  a  constant  smile  she  added  delighted  simpers  and 
small  coughs  of  convention.  She  tossed  her  head  with 
mild  remnants  of  coquetry  which  caused  her  long  jet 
ear-rings  to  jingle. 

Hearing  that  a  gentleman  had  applied  for  accommo 
dations,  Mrs.  Tathem  hastily  donned  her  best  bugled 
gown,  and,  adding  a  twisted  buffalo  comb  to  two  silver 
ones,  rustled  into  the  parlor  like  softly  falling  rain.  She 


A   STRAIN   OF   RARENESS  51 

assured  Richard  Hallett  of  the  comforts  of  a  home  and, 
on  terms  being  agreed  to,  accepted  him  at  once  as  her 
guest  and  that  night  honored  him  by  placing  him  at 
table  where  he  might  enjoy  the  full  benefits  of  her 
friendliness. 

She  presided  over  the  great  copper  urn  at  the  end  of 
the  board  and  as  she  filled  thin  cups  with  thinner  tea 
dispensed  her  confidences.  The  confidences  concerned 
her  daughter  Pinkie — her  charms  and  her  numerous  love 
affairs.  Then  there  were  trials  that  Mrs.  Tathem  whis 
pered.  The  tenderloins,  Mr.  Hallett  must,  alas,  know, 
were  constantly  disappearing  from  the  beefsteaks;  for 
Katey  Lookup  would  feed  them  to  favorite  cats.  Cats, 
too,  accounted  for  the  insipidity  of  the  soup :  for  what 
had  Katey  Lookup  done  with  the  mutton  bones  ?  Board 
ers  complained.  Yes,  she  had  actually  lived  to  hear 
boarders  complain.  And  the  oil  portrait  of  her  father, 
the  once  influential  iron-master,  with  his  white  choker 
and  a  hand  thrust  in  his  bosom,  looked  down  on  her 
from  the  dining-room  wall ! 

Richard  Hallett  was  informed  of  the  distinctions  that 
Dunkirk  boasted  as  a  county  town.  He  must  be  ac 
quainted  with  the  important  fact  that  Dunkirk  had  a 
spring  which  was  a  miracle  to  be  compared  with  the  Rock 
of  Horeb.  The  spring  gushed  three  thousand  gallons  a 
minute  and  had  supplied  the  town  with  water  in  wooden 
pipes  since  the  beginning  of  the  century.  Did  Mr.  Hal 
lett  like  hard  or  soft  water  ?  Hard,  she  hoped,  for  oth 
erwise  he  would  grieve  the  good  citizens  of  Dunkirk,  who 
were  sure  to  ask  him  his  preference.  Talleyrand,  the 
great  French  statesman,  had  visited  Dunkirk  when  in 
America  and  had  exclaimed  over  the  wondrous  spring 


52  HECLA   SAXDW1TH 

in  words  that  every  Dunkirk  school-boy  knew  by  heart 
from  laboriously  tracing  them  in  his  copy-book.  Dun 
kirk  congratulated  itself  on  the  way  it  had  secured  the 
honor  of  being  the  county  seat.  To  be  sure,  a  town  a 
mile  away  was  the  head  of  navigation;  but  the  enter 
prising  settlers  of  Dunkirk  had  loaded  a  flat-boat  with 
old  furniture,  dragged  it  to  the  town  and  then  posted 
to  Lancaster,  where  the  legislature  was  sitting,  to  an 
nounce  that  the  first  boat  of  the  season  had  reached 
Dunkirk.  What  happened  ?  Why,  the  legislature,  think 
ing  Dunkirk  was  the  head  of  navigation,  signed  the 
charter  already  made  out  for  signatures  and  Dunkirk 
won  its  preeminence  over  the  rival  township ! 

From  the  subject  of  Dunkirk  Mrs.  Tathem  drifted  on 
to  a  chronicle  of  her  boarders.  There  was  Mr.  Blair 
Nandine,  the  Beau  Brummel  of  rural  dandyism,  who 
wrote,  in  a  neat  hand,  original  poetry,  which,  tied  with 
a  blue  ribbon,  he  presented  to  the  young  ladies  of  the 
town.  Mr.  Nandine  considered  himself  to  be  the  speak 
ing  image  of  the  Bird  of  Avon,  as  Mrs.  Tathem  called 
the  poet,  and  was  always  quoting  him.  Mr.  Nandine 
had  the  idea  he  talked  to  himself  and  was  always  asking 
Mrs.  Tathem  if  he  did,  and  Mrs.  Tathem  was  always 
telling  him  he  didn't,  which  wasn't  true,  but  why  should 
Mr.  Nandine  worry  over  such  a  trifle?  People  would 
express  their  feelings  to  themselves,  which  wasn't  a 
crime  nor  yet  a  disease. 

Unkind  people  said  Mr.  Nandine  had  made  declara 
tions  to  every  one  and  every  one  had  said  no  to  Mr.  Nan- 
dine.  She  doubted  such  a  report.  Mr.  JSTandine  had 
never  proposed  to  Pinkie.  But  Pinkie  never  encour 
aged;  people  had  to  encourage  Pinkie.  There  was  also 


A    STEAIN"    OF   EAEENESS  53 

Mr.  Donovan,  the  Episcopal  rector,  off  now  on  his 
"Lacedaemonian  cry":  such  an  agreeable  young  man  he 
was,  and  so  eloquent  in  the  pulpit!  Mr.  Hallett  must 
go  to  the  Little  Church  on  the  Hill  and  hear  him !  Peo 
ple  were  that  affected  by  his  sermons :  he  had  once  de 
scribed  a  thunderstorm  with  such  effect  an  old  lady  had 
excitedly  raised  her  umbrella.  These  were  her  favorite 
ydung  men  and  she  tried  to  be  a  mother  to  them.  Of 
course  she  didn't  mean — Mr.  Hallett  mustn't  think  she 
meant — she  hoped  Pinkie  wouldn't — at  least  she  hoped 
she  wouldn't  quite  yet.  Pinkie  was  so  young ! 

Mrs.  Tathem's  monologues — they  were  mostly  mono 
logues — did  not  interest  Eichard  Hallett,  who  cared 
nothing  for  gossip.  But  Mrs.  Tathem  did  not  notice  his 
inattention,  as  her  hands — on  one  was  a  large  mourning- 
ring  in  memory  of  the  late  Mr.  Tathem — fluttered 
among  the  tea  things.  She  was  glad  of  a  new  ear  into 
which  to  pour  her  old  fluencies  as  she  poured  her  tepid 
brew  into  her  boarders'  cups. 

One  evening  after  tea,  the  week  following  Eichard 
Hallett's  meeting  with  Mr.  Sandwith  and  his  daughter 
Hecla,  Wentworth  Oliver  called,  as  had  been  agreed,  to 
take  him  to  Burnham.  They  reached  the  house  after  a 
quarter  of  an  hour's  walk  in  the  falling  twilight,  which 
still  gave  a  hint  of  the  stately  grounds  surrounding  the 
gray  old  mansion. 

The  door  was  opened  by  Mr.  Sandwith  himself  and 
they  were  ushered  into  a  long  double  parlor  divided  by 
leaf  doors  of  mahogany  with  cut-glass  handles.  The 
furniture  of  the  room  was  of  substantial  old-time  make, 
but  there  was  an  air  of  simplicity.  The  walls  were  bare 


54  HECLA    SANDWITII 

of  pictures  except  over  the  high  wooden  mantel-piece, 
where  hung  a  steel  engraving  representing  Elizabeth 
Fry  reading  the  Bible  to  the  prisoners  at  Newgate.  In 
the  rear  of  the  parlors,  however,  might  have  been  seen 
one  object  out  of  accord  with  this  comfortable  Quaker 
plainness — the  little  rosewood  spinet  which  had  caused 
the  quarrel  between  the  iron-master  and  his  brother 
Pentecost. 

Their  host  gave  Hallett  the  impression  of  a  man  of 
marked  individuality.  He  had  a  quick,  nervous  manner, 
and  the  Englishman  thought  he  had  seldom  met  any  one 
who  put  so  many  keen  questions  to  him  in  so  short  a 
time.  Mr.  Sandwith  asked  about  his  experiences  as  over 
seer  of  coal  mines  in  England  and  Wales,  and  his  guest's 
straightforward,  clear  answers  made  an  excellent  impres 
sion  on  him.  Fastened  in  this  conversational  vise  Hal 
lett  could  only  observe  from  a  distance  Hecla  Sandwith, 
with  whom  Wentworth  Oliver  was  talking. 

Eichard  Hallett's  attention  was  continually  straying 
to  the  pair.  The  girl's  voice,  of  an  exquisite  quality  and 
modulation,  affected  him  as  no  voice  had  done  before. 
It  became  more  difficult  for  him  to  give  his  attention  to 
Mr.  Sandwith  and  geology.  Once  he  surprised  Hecla's 
glance  fixed  upon  him  with  interest.  The  eyes  added 'to 
the  spell  she  exercised  over  him.  They  were  unusually 
dark-pupiled,  tragic,  full  of  intelligence.  The  clear 
brow  from  which  the  red-brown  hair  was  drawn  back 
seemed  to  him  to  have  an  ideal  purity,  like  the  features, 
delicate  and  finely  modeled.  Eichard  Hallett  considered 
her  the  most  beautiful  girl  he  had  ever  seen. 

He  had  known  few  women  and  none  intimately.  The 
hardships  of  his  youth,  the  labors  of  early  manhood,  had 


A    STRAIN    OF    RARENESS  55 

secluded  him  from  the  world  and  thus  limited  his  ex 
perience.  He  recognized  a  capacity  for  love,  but  love  he 
had  so  far  put  resolutely  aside  as  interfering  with 
his  ambitions.  But  he  was  ripe  for  marriage  now.  Was 
he  not  starting  out  in  a  new  sphere  of  life  wherein  he 
confidently  hoped  to  make  his  fortune?  The  idea  of  a 
wife  had  vaguely  come  to  him  the  night  he  had  caught 
his  first  glimpse  of  Hecla  at  Christy  Pickle's  cottage; 
it  had  entered  into  his  dreams;  was  growing  in  him  as 
a  supreme  necessity. 

"Miss  Sandwith  has,  I  presume,  many  admirers,"  he 
said  to  his  companion  on  their  way  back  to  Dunkirk. 

"Yes,"  Oliver  returned  with  reserve  in  his  voice,  "my 
cousin  is  a  popular  girl.  You  were  attracted  by  her  ?" 

"She  seems  to  me  a  very  interesting  as  well  as  beau 
tiful  young  woman,"  Richard  Hallett  said  fervently.  "I 
should  like  to  know  her  well." 

Wentworth  Oliver  looked  at  him  quickly  as  he  replied : 

"She  is  not  easy  to  know — to  understand,  I  mean." 

Nothing  more  was  said,  and  in  a  few  moments  they 
parted  at  Mrs.  Tathem's  door. 

That  night  brought  passionate  dreams  of  Hecla  Sand 
with  to  the  young  Englishman — dreams  that  made  him, 
when  he  woke  in  the  morning,  feel  a  strange  sense  of 
nearness  to  the  woman  with  whom  he  had  barely  ex 
changed  a  word. 

He  woke  early  refreshed  by  sound  sleep.  A  sponge 
bath  in  the  ice-cold  water  of  the  famous  spring  which 
wooden  pipes  carried  to  all  parts  of  the  town  set  body 
and  spirits  in  a  glow.  He  threw  up  the  window  of  his 
bedroom  and  drew  in  deep  draughts  of  the  pure  moun 
tain  air.  A  view  of  the  town  lay  before  him.  Beyond  the 


56  HECLA   SAXDWITH 

jumble  of  dew-wet  roofs  rose  the  round  pine-fringed 
summits  of  the  neighboring  foot-hills  fleeced  now  with 
mist  exhaled  from  hidden  streams.  The  red  morning 
light,  striking  through  the  maples  on  the  court-house 
green,  brought  out  their  vivid  spring  tint.  Jays  sang  in 
the  branches  outside  his  window.  The  hilly  little  town 
of  Dunkirk  wore  a  bright  and  homely  air  of  invitation ; 
and  Eichard  Hallett  felt  the  manhood  in  him  meet  it 
joyously.  He  was  twenty-eight  years  of  age,  energetic 
and  self-confident.  Life  had  had  its  difficulties  and 
hardships,  but  he  had  perfect  health,  the  endurance  of  a 
vigorous  frame;  these  supported  him  in  his  ambitions. 
Positiveness  was  one  of  his  well-developed  traits,  and,  as 
he  stood  there  by  the  window,  filling  his  lungs  with  the 
tingling  air,  he  said  to  himself  that  Hecla  Sandwith  was 
the  woman  he  wanted  for  a  wife  and  that  he  would  win 
her. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MATTER  FOR  A  MAY   MORXIXG 

Hetty  Wain,  a  plump  pretty  figure  in  Quaker  dress, 
was  on  her  way  to  Burnham  to  see  her  cousin,  Hecla 
Sanclwith.  The  road  to  the  iron-master's  country  home 
was  dusty.  Hetty  with  one  hand  fastidiously  bundled 
up  her  skirts  and  with  the  other  held  a  handkerchief 
above  her  eyes  in  lieu  of  a  parasol. 

Behind  her  lay  the  town  of  Dunkirk,  where  Hetty 
lived  with  her  uncle,  Gideon  Sanclwith.  Gideon  S'and- 
with  was  her  guardian  and  had  reared  his  ward  in  strict 
conformity  with  Quakerism — at  least  in  all  matters  per 
taining  to  outward  form.  She  was  compelled  to  use  the 
plain  language  and,  what  was  a  greater  trial,  to  wear  un 
worldly  costume.  Hetty  had  a  passion  for  what  Friend 
Hannah  Fisher,  one  of  the  Quarterly  Meeting  visitors, 
had  been  moved  by  the  Spirit  to  call  "gay  and  ungodly 
adornment"  only  a  few  days  before.  Hetty  had  listened 
to  the  sermon  with  a  demure  expression,  but  envy  had 
burned  her  heart  as  she  looked  at  Hecla  wearing  her  new 
fine  Leghorn  hat  with  its  long  white  plume. 

The  blood  of  spring  thrilled  and  quickened,  mantling 
the  May  day  with  nameless  greens  and  reds  of  unfolding 
leaf.  A  mist  brooded  in  the  air,  giving  the  country 
landscape  the  soft  purple  bloom  of  a  plum.  The  way- 

57 


58  HECLA   SANDWITH 

side  sod  along  which  Hetty  delicately  picked  her  path 
was  dotted  with  dandelions — guilders  newly  coined ;  and 
in  damp  places  of  the  road  butterflies  fluttered  like 
scraps  of  white  paper.  On  clumps  of  hawthorn  still  lay 
the  floral  snowfall  of  the  year  that  had  once  silvered  all 
the  orchard  distances.  The  prime  of  cherry  and  pear 
was  past — their  petals  lay  in  white  rings  around  their 
roots  like  fallen  girdles ;  but  in  corners  of  stone  fences, 
over  which  the  passion-flower  trailed,  the  wild  crab  glad 
dened  the  day  with  pink. 

The  pastoral  of  May  was  lost  on  the  little  Quakeress : 
she  considered  nature  with  a  mind  matter-of-fact  as 
the  multiplication  table.  Glancing  at  the  cloudless  sky 
overhead  she  wondered  if  there  were  going  to  be  a 
drought.  Drought  meant  damage  to  crops  and  damage 
to  crops  meant  damage  to  Hetty.  Her  knowledge  of 
plowing  and  planting  was  almost  as  accurate  and  full 
as  a  farmer's  almanac.  She  had  fertile  acres  of  her  own 
to  which  she  devoted  anxious  thought,  visiting  them  as 
often  as  her  housekeeping  duties  allowed.  Hetty  was 
not  yet  of  age,  but  her  farmers  had  a  wholesome  dread 
of  her  and  her  shrill  silver  treble. 

The  road  which  Hetty  was  climbing  ran  through  her 
Uncle  Joshua's  land.  On  one  side,  stretching  from  fence 
to  hilltop,  ebbed  and  flowed  the  thin  green  waters  of 
the  wheat  as  if  mildly  moon-drawn ;  and  she  noted  with 
envy  how  the  ripples  whitened  higher  than  her  own 
wheat  blades.  Her  vexation  at  this  turned  to  exultation 
as  she  journeyed  on.  In  the  next  field  her  uncle's  farmer 
was  plowing.  She  paused  a  moment  to  watch.  Across 
the  slope  a  figure  moved,  tinged  a  common  tone  of  terra 
cotta  from  ithe  dust  that  smoked  behind.  Sunlight 


MATTER   FOR   A   MAY   MORNING        59 

glistened  on  the  sweating  flanks  of  two  white-faced 
horses,  as  the  moist  pink  earth  rolled  like  billows  from 
the  shining  plowshare.  Along  a  lessening  sage-colored 
strip — last  year's  matted  clover — two  children  in  blue 
sunbonnets  ran  in  advance  of  the  horses  chased  by  a 
barking  sheep-dog.  Now  the  farmer  passed  under  the 
shadow  of  a  great  mountain  pine  that,  solitary,  spread 
broad  benignant  palms,  blessing  the  fruitfulness  of 
earth.  Hungry  crows  filled  the  air  with  their  coarse 
cries.  Hetty  smiled.  She  had  finished  her  corn-planting, 
and  her  uncle  was  only  plowing ! 

Where  she  now  stood  a  path  led  from  the  highway 
to  the  home  of  Joshua  Sandwith.  Hetty  could  see, 
across  a  broad  meadow,  the  stone  mansion  through 
trunks  of  a  stately  black  walnut  grove.  The  meadow  was 
ribboned  by  a  stream  that  in  front  of  the  house  looped 
around  a  turban-shaped  isle  with  rustic  arbor  and  weep 
ing  willow  tree.  The  green  meadow  grass  was  clouded 
with  sheep  a-graze,  and  Hetty,  as  she  passed  along, 
clapped  her  hands  to  see  the  black-stockinged  lambs 
scud  after  their  frightened  dams — a  sudden  breaking 
of  fleeces  like  the  clearing  of  the  heavens  by  a  March 
gale.  Her  step  on  the  foot-bridge  sent  green-headed 
frogs  splashing  into  a  brook  choked  with  water-cress. 
Near  the  house  she  stopped  to  hammer  mischievously  on 
the  trunk  of  a  gnarled  dogwood,  summoning  a  pair  of 
aged  flying  squirrels,  who  blinked  at  their  disturber 
through  the  white  star-blossoms  of  an  upper  bough. 

Reaching  the  house  she  opened  the  front  door  with 
out  knocking  and  entered  a  cool  white-pillared  hall  orna 
mented  with  antlers,  settee  and  Dutch  clock.  Noah,  the 
coachman,  was  on  his  knees  waxing  the  floor,  and  half- 


60  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

way  up  the  narrow  staircase  with  its  white  pilasters  and 
mahogany  rail,  a  huge  gray  rabbit  squatted,  cleaning  its 
ears  with  awkward  paws.  This  knowing  old  gourmand 
was  a  privileged  pet  of  the  iron-master,  who  had  taught 
it  the  trick  of  "throwing  the  poker"  and  other  accom 
plishments  in  which  both  took  pride.  Learning  from 
Noah  that  her  cousin  was  in  the  kitchen,  Hetty  turned 
thither,  coaxing  the  rabbit  to  follow  her.  A  jar  stood  on 
the  dining-room  table,  and,  as  she  passed,  Hetty  curi 
ously  lifted  the  lid;  at  the  half -open  kitchen  door  she 
paused  to  eavesdrop,  with  the  only  reward  of  hearing 
Harmony's  mild  voice  ask  for  the  caraway  seeds. 

The  kitchen  was  a  large  brick-paved  room.  From  the 
smoke-stained  rafters  dropped  festoons  of  dried  apples 
and  onions  cunningly  plaited;  and  on  each  side  of  the 
huge  fireplace  paper  bags  hung  marked  "Thyme,"  "Sum 
mer  Savory"  and  "Sweet  Marjoram."  The  tall  wooden 
mantel-piece  shone  with  brass  candlesticks  and  the  lead- 
colored  dresser  opposite,  with  well-rubbed  pewter  ware. 
Through  an  open  door  could  be  glimpsed  a  flagged 
space  sheltered  by  a  grape-vine,  with  rows  of  white 
washed  beehives  and  round  plastered  brick  oven  like  a 
huge  mushroom.  Before  this  Aunt  Milcah  or  "Milky" 
Lawson,  the  negro  cook,  knelt,  raking  out  wood-ashes 
preparatory  to  bread-baking.  The  dough  in  wicker 
baskets  lined  with  cabbage  leaves  stood  on  a  wooden 
shovel  ready  to  be  thrust  into  the  heat. 

"What's  thee  doing,  Hecla  ?  Thee  can't  cook,"  Hetty 
said  scornfully  as  she  entered  the  kitchen. 

Hecla  stood  by  the  fire,  guarding  a  copper  kettle  on  a 
crane,  a  bottle  in  one  hand,  a  large  silver  spoon  in  the 
other.  She  had  a  fresh  morning  look  in  her  green-and- 


MATTER   FOR   A   MAY   MORNING        Gl 

white  check  gingham,  her  ruffled  jaconet  apron  and 
wide  linen  collar  caught  with  a  gold-mounted  truelove 
knot  of  her  mother's  hair.  Her  own  tresses  drawn  down 
over  her  ear-tips  were  held  by  a  silver  comb.  Turned- 
back  sleeves  showed  her  shapely  blue-veined  arms. 

Hetty  and  the  rabbit  were  both  sniffing  with  satisfied 
noses. 

"Don't  talk,  please:  I  am  making  mint-drops  and  I 
have  to  count  as  soon  as  the  sugar  boils." 

"How  many  does  thee  count  ?" 

"Hush,  Hetty,  please." 

Hecla  poured  spearmint  into  the  spoon  with  great 
exactness  and  stirred  it  into  the  kettle,  her  lips  moving. 
Instantly  a  smarting  cloud  of  fragrance  enveloped  her, 
rolling  up  to  the  rafters. 

"How  does  thee  make  thy  mint-drops?"  Hetty  de 
manded,  as  Hecla  poured  the  liquid  into  a  willow-ware 
platter. 

"It's  a  school  secret,  Hetty.  The  Sisters  make  us 
promise  not  to  tell  it." 

"One  can't  bother  to  keep  all  one's  promises." 

"I  keep  mine." 

"Thee  pretends  to  be  so  superior,"  her  cousin  retorted 
at  Hecla's  rather  complacent  tone.  Prying  up  a  mint- 
drop  she  tasted  it  judiciously.  "Thee's  like  thy  mint- 
drops  and  they're  no  better  than  common  ones." 

She  threw  aside  her  bonnet  and  seated  herself  near 
the  kitchen  table  where  Harmony  was  beating  batter  in 
a  bowl,  a  cook-book  before  her  open  at  a  page  marked 
"Jumbles." 

"Well,  I  nearly  melted  coming  out,"  the  Quakeress 
commented,  fanning  herself  with  her  handkerchief, 


62  HECLA   SANDWITH 

"and  burned  my  face  in  the  bargain ;  and  all  for  want 
of  a  sinful  sunshade.  Well,  walking's  good  to  reduce 
your  weight,  that's  one  consolation.  Does  thee  think," 
— anxiously — "I've  grown  thinner,  Hecla  ?" 

"No,  I  can't  say  I  do,  Hetty." 

Hetty  bit  her  lip  and  said  quickly :  "I  met  thy  father 
on  his  way  to  town.  How  badly  he  looks !  I  suppose  he's 
worried  over  giving  up  business.  Uncle  Gideon  thinks 
Dave  will  ruin  the  Works.  He  says  there  is  no  sense  in 
his  new  scheme  of  making  coal  by  chemistry." 

"Uncle  Gideon  need  not  distress  himself,  Hetty,  since 
father  is  satisfied  with  David,"  was  the  reply.  "I  should 
hardly  consider  Uncle  Gideon  a  judge  of  chemical  coal." 

"Oh,  maybe  not.  Uncle  Gideon  is  too  fond  of  money 
to  risk  it  in  patents  and  new  notions  like  thy  father. 
David  may  be  all  thee  thinks  him  but  no  one  manages 
thy  affairs  like  thyself.  I  manage  my  farms  and  I  in 
tend  to  manage  my  fortune — when  I  get  it  from  Uncle 
Gideon — no  matter  whether  I  marry  or  not." 

"And  you'll  manage  your  husband,  too,  Hetty." 

"He  certainly  shan't  manage  me,"  she  affirmed.  "I've 
been  managed  enough  by  Uncle  Gideon."  She  helped 
herself  to  another  mint-drop.  "I  wonder  thee  hasn't 
been  to  town,  Hecla,  after  a  week  at  home." 

"How  could  I  go?"  replied  Hecla.  "You  know  we 
have  had  company." 

"Well,  Quarterly  Meeting's  over  at  last,  thank  good 
ness  !  I  nearly  wore  myself  out  cooking.  Friends  are  so 
fond  of  the  creature  comforts.  Has  thee  heard  any 
news?  Benjamin  Truelove  has  been  creating  a  sensa 
tion,  stopping  people  and  telling  them  he  has  a  'mes 
sage'  for  them.  And,  of  course,  everybody's  discussing 


MATTER   FOR   A   MAY   MORNING        63 

Richard  Hallett.  I  shouldn't  be  at  all  surprised  if  he 
turned  out  an  adventurer." 

"Well,  I  assure  you  that's  not  the  impression  Mr. 
Hallett  makes  on  father  and  myself,  Hetty." 

"Oh,  so  he's  been  out  to  see  thee,  has  he?  I  suppose 
thee  is  preparing  to  make  thyself  agreeable." 

"You  say  such  foolish  things,  Hetty!  .Whenever  did 
I  wish  attention?" 

"Thee's  indifferent  to  admirers,  no  doubt.  What  is 
man,  that  thou  shouldst  magnify  him  and  that  thou 
shouldst  set  thy  heart  upon  him?  Why  is  thee  always 
trying  to  take  me  in  ?  It's  like  thy  airs  about  thy  mint- 
drops  and  keeping  thy  word.  Set  thy  cap  for  him  if 
thee  pleases.  Thee  won't  make  me  jealous  for  one." 

"I  confess  I  find  Mr.  Hallett's  conversation  very  en 
tertaining.  It  is  a  relief,  certainly,  after  Dunkirk  small- 
talk." 

"I  suppose  you  mean  he  talks  about  Europe.  Well, 
he's  not  the  only  person  who  can  do  that !  There's  Blair 
Nandine,  just  home  from  his  trip  abroad.  I'd  rather 
hear  what  he  has  to  say.  He  knows  how  to  describe  the 
Paris  fashions.  Did  thy  father  tell  thee  about  the  souve 
nir  he  brought  him — the  pocket  comb?  As  if  anybody 
could  help  knowing  thy  father  wears  a  wig !  How  many 
has  he,  anyway,  Hecla?  People  are  always  asking  me. 
Blair  said  he  bought  the  comb  especially  for  dear  Mr. 
Sandwith,  and  Uncle  Joshua  lifted  off  his  wig  and  an 
swered,  'Thee  lies,  friend  Nandine.'  Thy  father  has 
such  a  way  of  offending  people." 

"Father  hates  people  who  tell  falsehoods,  Hetty," 
Hecla  replied. 

".Well,  if  thee's  like  thy  father  thee  ought  to  hate  the 


64  HECLA   SANDWITH 

poem  Blair  Nandine  wrote  thee — though,  after  all,  it 
only  called  thee  'passing5  fair." 

"  'Passing7  fair  is  Shakespeare  for  'surpassing.' 
Eeally  you  ought  to  readjnore  and  improve  your  mind  V 

"I  read  Godey's  Lady's  Boole — that's  enough  litera 
ture  for  me.  And  if  'passing'  means  'surpassing/  then 
it  surpasses  the  truth  about  thee." 

Here  Molly  Tucker  made  a  'waddling  entrance  into 
the  kitchen.  The  old  family  seamstress  suffered  from 
an  interference  of  the  feet  that  was  constantly  causing 
her  to  fall  down  stairs.  She  nursed  a  grievance  against 
Hecla  and  it  was  in  a  complaining  nasal  tone  that  she 
said:  "Heckly,  your  Aunt  Seaborn's  in  the  parlor, 
haven'  a  spell.  If  you  hadn't  went  an'  took  the  keys 
away  from  me  I  could  ha'  give  her  some  wine  out  a  the 
chimney  closet." 

Hecla  hastily  left  the  kitchen,  and  Hetty  now  gave 
her  attention  to  Harmony,  who  had  quietly  continued 
her  labors  without  taking  part  in  the  conversation. 
Hetty,  restless  little  busybody  that  she  was,  her  eyes 
lit  with  red  sparkles  like  a  squirrel's,  nibbled  her  nails 
a  moment  in  thought. 

"Is  it  thy  cake  or  thy  conscience  that  makes  thee  so 
wrapped  up  in  thyself?"  she  asked.  "Thee  hasn't  said 
a  word." 

"You  know  you  have  been  doing  a  good  deal  of  talk 
ing  yourself." 

Harmony  spoke  softly  as  one  might  hush  usual  tones 
in  sick-room  ministrations.  In  quality  the  voice  was 
like  a  vesper  chime  after  the  sharp  tinkle  of  a  tea-bell. 

"I  suppose  one  of  thy  headaches  is  coming  on,  thee 
looks  so  pale.  It's  odd  the  way  thee  gets  headaches  when 


MATTER   FOR   A   MAY   MOENING        65 

there's  going  to  be  cornpan}'.  Some  people  would  say 
thee  encouraged  them  so  thee  might  stay  in  thy  room 
and  let  Hecla  do  the  entertaining.'* 

"Hecla  is  more  accomplished  than  I  am  and  she  is 
fond  of  company." 

"Thee  would  be  too,  if  thee  didn't  brood  so,"  Hetty 
said  authoritatively.  "I  advise  thee  to  stop  drinking 
coffee;  it's  bad  for  the  nerves  and  causes  melancholy." 
Hetty  was  fond  of  recommending  abstinence  from  the 
things  in  which  she  most  loved  to  indulge.  "But  what's 
one  to  do?  Doctor  Proudfoot  says  our  limestone  spring 
gives  goitres."  Hetty's  hand  went  to  her  throat.  "Some 
times  I  feel  positively  certain  I  am  getting  a  goitre  and 
ought  to  wear  amber  beads.  But  Uncle  Gideon  would 
object — to  a  string  of  pills."  Hetty  had  a  long  list  of 
ailments  and  nothing  interested  her  more  than  new 
remedies.  Heroic  ones  particularly  appealed  to  her — 
when  others  tried  them. 

"Harmony,"  she  continued,  half-closing  her  eyes,  "I 
think  I  know  what's  the  matter  with  thee.  Thee  believes 
it  religion,  but  I  say  it's  thy  hair.  Heavy  hair  draws 
the  life  out  of  one.  Thee  ought  to  cut  thine  off  and 
wear  a  little  lawn  cap,  like  Aunt  Deborah,  instead  of  tak 
ing  thy  father's  doses.  Aunt  Deborah  says  Uncle  Joshua 
lacks  proper  respect  for  accredited  ministers  of  healing. 
I'm  sure  I'd  never  trust  him  after  he  nearly  poisoned 
you  all,  mistaking  poke-root  for  burdock.  People  talk 
so,  Harmony,  when  one  always  looks  sober  and  sad. 
For  instance,  what  does  thee  think  Pinkie  Tathem  says  ? 
That  thee's  in  love  with  the  Episcopal  rector  and  that 
he's  a  great  flirt  and  doesn't  intend  to  marry.  I  told 
her  how  absurd  it  was  to  talk  about  thee  and  Mr.  Dono- 


66  HECLA   SANEWITH 

van,  with  Uncle  Joshua  so  opposed  to  ^hireling  preach 
ers/  Thee's  such  a  sweet,  good  girl,  Harmon}',  thee'd 
never  do  anything  thy  father  wouldn't  like,  would 
thee?" 

The  toleration  of  Hetty's  tongue  was  family  resigna 
tion  to  incorrigible  habit.  Ordinarily  Hetty's  arrows 
fell  harmless,  blunt  from  too  frequent  usage.  But  Har 
mony's  sensitive  spirit  was  pierced  by  this  last  barb. 
She  turned  her  deep  chestnut  eyes  on  Hetty  in  meek 
wonder  at  her  indelicacy.  Hetty  only  smothered  a  yawn. 
Hetty  always  yawned  when  she  was  most  awake. 

"That  is  not  kind  of  you,  Hetty." 

"Why,  Harmony,  I  didn't  say  thee  was  in  love.  I 
merely  repeated  what  Pinkie  Tathem  told  me.  People 
are  so  disagreeable  and  gossipy.  What  is  the  use  of  be 
ing  a  near  relative  if  one  can't  repeat  what  one  hears  ?" 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   'WOMAX   OF    SORROWFUL   SPIRIT 

Hecla  found  Mrs.  Seaborn  Oliver  in  tears.  Her  aunt 
was  a  large  tragic  presence  of  inelegant  mold,  dressed 
in  perverse  disregard  of  taste.  To  Mrs.  Oliver,  decking 
out  the  body  was  hanging  garlands  around  the  golden 
calf.  She  cherished  bonnets  falling  to  decay  and  pointed 
with  pride  to  the  antiquity  of  the  slate-colored  alpaca 
she  usually  wore.  Her  near-sighted  eyes  gave  her  the 
expression  of  one  anxiously  searching  for  some  minute 
object,  such  as  a  moth  in  the  air  or  a  pin  on  the  carpet. 
Her  overblown  cheeks  emphasized  the  smallness  of  a 
mouth  that  took  the  pout  of  a  child.  When  she  was  ex 
cited  the  blood  rose  into  her  face  at  unexpected  and  un 
becoming  places.  In  spite  of  aggressive  utterances  on 
the  subject  of  female  vanity  and  her  contempt  for  cos 
tume,  Mrs.  Seaborn  Oliver  had  one  care  in  regard  to  her 
appearance.  Nature  had  given  her  an  inordinately  long 
neck,  and  this  she  made  shift  to  conceal  with  a  scarf  of 
black  Spanish  lace.  The  scarf  and  her  brooch — the 
miniature  of  the  captain  of  London  Hope,  the  vessel  on 
which  she  was  born — were  Mrs.  Oliver's  sole  effects  of 
finery. 

Hecla  gave  her  aunt  a  dutiful  kiss,  sitting  down  be 
side  her  on  the  sofa. 

67 


68  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

"Don't,  Hecla,"  Mrs.-  Oliver  sobbed  in  her  melodra 
matic  bass  voice,  "sit  there  on  that  chair  where  I  can 
see  you" 

"Molly  told  me  you  felt  a  little  faint ;  shall  I  get  you 
some  wine  ?" 

Mrs.  Oliver's  frayed  mitts  waved  aside  the  attention 
as  though  it  were  a  buzzing  insect.  "Xo,  Hecla,  no. 
You  seem  to  forget  I  never  use  fermented  liquors.  Peo 
ple  persist  so  in  mistaking  grief  for  bodily  complaint. 
I  felt,  it  is  true,  a  strange  sensation  after  my  walk  here 
in  the  warmth,  but  I  am  overcome  thinking  of  my  poor 
dead  sister.  Hecla,  were  it  not  for  the  duty  I  owe  your 
mother's  children  I  should  never  enter  this  house.  The 
way  your  father  wounds  my  sacred  feelings,  insults  my 
religion — " 

"Father  does  not  mean  to  wound  you,  aunt;  you  know 
it's  just  his  way."  And  Hecla  offered  her  aunt  her 
handkerchief  to  stanch  her  tears. 

"Xo,  no,"  Mrs.  Oliver  lamented,  more  hysterical  at 
her  niece's  sympathy,  "no,  let  them  roll.  You  know  I 
always  let  my  tears  have  their  way."  Pride  in  the  activ 
ity  of  her  tear-ducts  was  one  of  Mrs.  Oliver's  peculiari 
ties.  Life  was  to  her  a  sort  of  sal  ammoniac  that  she 
seldom  inhaled  without  bringing  moisture  to  her  eyes. 
Xature  had  presented  her  with  a  tear-bottle  for  a  heart 
and  she  had  removed  the  stopper. 

Hecla,  watching  her  aunt's  tears  have  their  way, 
thought  of  the  trial  the  lachrymose  lady  had  been  to  her 
relatives  and  friends.  She  was  her  mother's  only  sister 
and  had  never  forgiven  her  her  enforced  defection  from 
Calvinism.  To  Mrs.  Oliver  religion  was  a  cave  in  which 
to  sit  moodily  and  enjoy  the  dampness  and  lack  of  sun- 


A   WOMAN    OF    SORROWFUL   SPIRIT      GO 

shine.  Before  the  birth  of  little  Jervis  she  had  gloomily 
entertained  Mrs.  Sandwith  by  reading  Jonathan  Ed 
wards'  works.  During  her  son  Wentworth's  absence  at 
the  law-school  Mrs.  Oliver  made  her  home  at  Burnham, 
and  sharp  had  been  the  thorn  of  her  presence  there. 
There  were  the  accidents  at  table  caused  by  her  near- 
sightedness  :  the  long  unpleasant  fingers  dipping  in  the 
butter,  which  she  mistook  for  cheese;  the  disputes  be 
tween  the  iron-master  and  herself  over  infant  baptism 
and  effectual  calling;  and  the  conflicts  on  Sabbath  keep 
ing — Mrs.  Oliver  insisting  there  should  be  no  cooking 
on  "the  Lord's  Day."  Finally,  angered  at  Mr.  Sand- 
with's  charge  that  the  Puritans  had  hanged  the  Quak 
ers,  she  had  departed  with  the  remark  that  she  was  sorry 
such  practices  no  longer  obtained. 

Mrs.  Oliver  now  loosened  her  scarf:  breathing-space 
was  needed  for  the  drama  of  these  rare  visits  to  Burn- 
ham.  The  tears  suddenly  ceased  their  flow.  She  sat  up 
more  stiffly. 

"Ah,  I  have  my  troubles,"  she  said,  enunciating  with 
tragical  distinctness,  "that  no  one  understands  but  my 
son,  Wentworth.  There  is  little  sympathy  in  the  world. 
I  do  not  know  what  I  should  do  were  I  not  such  a  brave 
cheerful  woman.  Hecla,  I  have  come  to  see  you,  since 
you  neglect  your  duty  to  your  aunt." 

"We  have  had  Quarterly  Meeting  visitors,  aunt;  and 
this  morning  I  was  engaged  in  the  kitchen." 

"Yes,  company  to  tea  this  evening,  Wentworth  in 
forms  me.  You  do  not  invite  his  mother;  but  one  had 
best  not  expect  consideration  nowadays." 

"You  always  refuse  invitations,  aunt." 

"That  is  no  reason  you  should  not  invite  me.   I  sup- 


70  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

pose  I  am  not  lively  enough  to  suit  people.  The  world 
does  not  understand  sadness." 

"Then  do  come  this  evening,"  Hecla  said.  "It  is  a 
very  quiet  supper  for  Friend  Benjamin  Truelove.  It 
may  cheer  you." 

"I  do  not  need  to  be  cheered/'  her  aunt  replied  in 
offended  tones.  "I  am  content  to  live  my  retired  life 
and  leave  others  to  amuse  themselves.  A  calm,  peaceful 
home  is  all  I  ask  of  the  Lord." 

After  a  pause  Mrs.  Oliver  rather  condescendingly 
complimented  Hecla  on  her  improved  appearance.  Her 
defective  vision  discounted  the  comment,  but  Hecla 
thanked  her.  Dave  had  been  fond  as  a  boy  of  playing 
tricks  on  his  aunt,  who  maintained  she  saw  perfectly. 
Once  he  had  placed  a  tray  ornamented  with  roses  against 
the  wall  declaring  it  was  Hecla's  portrait.  Mrs  Oliver 
had  said  the  portrait  flattered  her.  Mrs.  Oliver  next  plied 
her  niece  with  questions  concerning  her  visit  to  Philadel 
phia,  whither  Hecla  had  gone  after  leaving  boarding- 
school.  The  questions  had  to  do  for  the  most  part  with 
the  marriages  of  female  friends  in  that  city  and  the 
number  of  their  offspring.  When  the  number  was  large 
her  aunt  nodded  a  commendatory  chin,  saying:  "Well, 
I'm  glad  she  is  doing  so  well."  Having  exhausted  this 
topic,  she  continued : 

"I  suppose  you  have  seen  your  sister  Lucia?  Lucia 
was  such  a  wilful  girl  to  marry  against  the  wishes  of 
her  family.  I  feel  she  must  constantly  be  prayed  for." 

"Lucia  is  perfectly  happy,  aunt ;  why  do  you  speak  so 
of  her?" 

Mrs.  Oliver's  face  took  on  a  grim  expression.  "No 
children  after  two  years !  Think  of  it,  Hecla !" 


A   WOMAN   OF    SORROWFUL   SPIRIT      71 

"And  you  call  her  unhappy  because  of  that  ?"  Hecla's 
voice  had  dignity  as  she  asked  the  question.  It  was  sel 
dom  that  on  this  subject  she  freed  her  feelings,  warped 
as  they  were  by  the  tragedy  of  her  mother's  death. 

Mrs.  Oliver's  hands  expressed  her  horror  as  the  heresy 
assailed  her. 

"Hecla,  you're  a  wicked  girl,  to  talk  so !  That  comes 
of  your  father's  giving  you  a  heathen  name  and  your 
mother's  not  bringing  you  up  a  Presbyterian,  as  she 
would  have  done,  poor  thing,  had  her  conscience  not  been 
crushed.  Now,  it  is  not  worth  while  getting  offended 
with  your  aunt,  as  if  I,  of  all  people,  own  sister  to  the 
dear  departed  one,  had  not  the  right — the  right — to  ex 
press  my  sentiments."  The  mention  of  Mrs.  Sandwith 
caused  Aunt  Seaborn  new  access  of  emotion. 

Hecla  patiently  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  florid-faced  cap 
tain,  who  had  saved  her  aunt  from  shipwreck.  After 
some  moist  moments,  Mrs.  Oliver  murmured  brokenly: 
"Well,  niece,  I  pray  daily  you  may  get  a  husband." 

"I  don't  expect  to  marry,  so  you  needn't  pray  for  me." 

"Not  marry,  Hecla!  you  talk  as  if  you  were  not  a 
Christian.  Not  marry!  Why  you  are  a  pretty  enough 
girl  to  some  people.  Perhaps  that  young  Englishman, 
Richard  Hallett,  will  ask  you  to  marry  him.  I  hear  he 
calls  at  Burnham.  Don't  fear  you  have  to  be  a  spinster." 

"No,  I  don't  think  that,"  Hecla  laughed. 

"Yes,  I  pray  for  you  as  I  pray  for  Wentworth,"  her 
aunt  went  on,  "although  I  know  the  angels  have  my  boy 
in  their  keeping."  Mrs.  Oliver  was  one  of  the  Presby 
terians  who  considered  her  election  sure  and  was  per 
suaded  Providence  had  herself  and  son  under  a  protec 
tion  such  as  was  vouchsafed  to  few.  "It  is  not  neces- 


72  HECLA   S'AXDWITII 

sary  for  me  to  have  Wentworth  on  my  mind.  Wentworth 
is  so  devoted  to  his  mother.  'My  son/  I  often  say  to 
him ;  'what  are  you  going  to  do  to-night  ?  Do  not  come 
home  early  to  sit  with  lonely  old  me.  Forget  how  mis 
erable  I  am  and  have  a  pleasant  evening  with  your 
friends.'  But  Wentworth  prefers  the  society  of  his 
mother  to  that  of  any  one.  Ah,  Hecla,  how  beautiful  it 
is  when  such  complete  sympathy  exists  between  parent 
and  child!  Wentworth  has  not  been  very  well  of  late, 
I  grieve  to  say.  I  hear  him  pacing  his  room  at  night. 
Hecla," — in  a  solemn  whisper, — "if  there  were  not  such 
complete  frankness  existing  between  us  I  should  think 
Wentworth  was  in  love." 

Hecla  was  perceptibly  moved  at  this  announcement, 
but  quickly  mastering  her  emotion  she  said  mechan 
ically,  "Do  you  think  so,  aunt  ?" 

"Yes,  and  it's  time  he  were.  Wentworth  must  marry/' 
she  reiterated  piously.  "I  do  not  wish  his  affection  for 
his  mother  to  stand  in  the  way  of  his  happiness.  I  have 
been  thinking  Ehoda  Markham  would  make  him  a  suit 
able  wife,  the  Markhams  being  of  excellent  English 
blood  and  comfortably  off,  too.  You  and  she  were  school 
mates,  Hecla.  Would  you  say  she  is  worthy  of  my  son  ?" 

"Why,  yes,"  Hecla  answered  slowly;  "Ehoda  is  a 
lovely  girl." 

She  paused.  It  surprised  her  to  find  how  affected  she 
was  over  this  suggestion  of  her  aunt's.  She  and  her 
cousin  Wentworth  had  been  intimate  since  their  earli 
est  youth  and  they  had  regularly  exchanged  letters 
during  Hecla's  absence  at  boarding-school.  Dunkirk 
gossips,  knowing  of  this  devotion,  had  sometimes  asked 
how  Joshua  Sandwith,  with  his  Quaker  ideas,  would 


A   WOMAN"    OF    SORROWFUL    SPIRIT      73 

like  his  daughter's  marrying  her  first  cousin.  Since  her 
return  to  Burnhara  Hecla  had  seen  nothing  of  Went- 
worth.  He  had  called  upon  her  but  once — the  night  he 
had  brought  Richard  Hallett  to  the  house.  Hecla  felt 
hurt  at  this  neglect.  It  was  difficult  for  her  to  believe 
that  her  cousin  no  longer  cared  for  her,  and  her  aunt's 
suggestion  that  he  might  be  in  love  seemed  a  plausible 
explanation  for  his  inattentions. 

"Yes,  aunt,"  she  said  more  readily,  "she  is  a  lovely 
girl;  I  am  very  fond  of  Rhoda.  But  you  know  she's  an 
Episcopalian." 

Hecla  was  aAvare  her  aunt  regarded  Episcopalians 
with  bitter  antipathy.  Some  indiscreet  person  had  once 
invited  Mrs.  Oliver  to  hear  the  eloquence  of  Mr.  Dono 
van,  the  new  rector  of  that  struggling  congregation  at 
Dunkirk,  and  her  aunt,  indulging  in  a  rare  ironic  hu 
mor,  answered :  "I  have  scruples  against  going  to  places 
of  amusement  on  the  Lord's  Day."  But  Mrs.  Oliver  met 
Hecla's  objection  blandly :  "Oh,  Rhoda  Markham  would 
make  her  religion  suit  if  my  son  married  her." 

"Wentworth  has  not  been  very  cousinly  since  I  came 
home,  Aunt  Seaborn,"  Hecla  said  as  her  visitor  arose. 
"He's  been  to  the  house  only  once,  and  I  do  think  he 
might  have  come  to  tea  to-night  when  he  was  asked." 

"How  exacting  you  are,  niece !"  the  reply  was. 
"Wentworth  is  a  lawyer  and  his  profession  naturally  ab 
sorbs  his  time." 

"It  must,  indeed,"  Hecla  answered  with  some  spirit, 
"since  it  keeps  him  from  showing  others  ordinary  po 
liteness." 

She  saw  her  aunt  go  majestically  off.  Mrs.  Oliver 
trod  the  earth  as  though  she  were  pressing  underfoot 


74  HECLA    SANDWITH 

weeds  of  wickedness.  Little  Pitcher  sat  in  the  orchard 
listening  while  his  tutor  Karl  read  Jane  Taylor's  Origi 
nal  Poem  for  Infant  Minds.  In  passing,  Aunt  Seaborn 
let  one  hand  fall  on  the  curly  head  as  she  murmured 
dolorously :  "Little  bundle  of  sin !" 

Hecla,  still  thinking  of  Wentworth  and  his  bedroom 
pacings,  picked  some  flowers  in  the  garden  before  re- 
entering  the  house. 

Hetty  was  in  the  hall  tying  her  bonnet  strings.  "I 
suppose,"  she  said,  "thy  aunt  went  off  very  sorrowful, 
like  the  rich  man  in  the  Bible.  Dear  me !"  glancing  at 
the  clock,  "how  late  it  is!  Uncle  Gideon  '11  be  home 
from  the  ore-banks."  She  passed  out  on  to  the  porch 
where  Hecla  the  next  minute  heard  her  call : 

"Come  quick,  thy  brother's  trying  to  ride  Pedigree 
up  the  steps.  He'll  break  his  neck  and  serve  him  right.'' 
Hecla  hurried  to  the  door.  Dave  had  succeeded  in  urg 
ing  his  chestnut  mare  up  a  flight  of  stone  steps  lead 
ing  to  the  house.  Having  tied  his  steed  he  caught  hold 
of  Hetty  and  kissed  her  in  spite  of  furious  resistance. 
"Kisses  fairly  make  my  flesh  creep,"  she  cried,  rubbing 
her  lips  with  her  handkerchief.  "I  can't  abide  thy  ways, 
David  Sandwith !" 

"I  love  to  kiss  you,  Hetty,"  he  laughed,  "you  hate  it 
so."  And  he  went  off  humming  the  words,  "Blithe  roams 
the  Indian  maid,  the  fair  Alpharetta." 

"Listen  to  him!"  Hetty  exclaimed.  "Hecla,  thee 
ought  to  lecture  thy  brother  on  his  manners.  The  girls 
complain  he  puts  his  arm  around  them  when  he  takes 
them  out  riding.  He's  far  too  free.  I  told  him  what  I 
thought  and  he  said  he  had  a  bear's  instinct  and  loved 
not  wisely  but  too  well,  as  some  English  poet  put  it.  I 


A   WOMAN   OF   SOEEOWFUL   SPIEIT     75 

suppose  his  vulgarity  comes  of  associating  with  common 
girls  like  Clover  Littlepage." 

"Hetty,  you  know  my  brother  couldn't  be  anything 
but  a  gentleman." 

"Oh,  no  doubt,"  was  the  sarcastic  reply.  "Thy  whole 
family's  perfect.  Well,  good-by.  I'll  be  out  this  even 
ing  by  early  candle-light." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  VISION   OF   JUDGMENT 

The  supper-party  for  which  Hetty  Wain  found  Hecla 
and  Harmony  making  preparations  in  the  kitchen  at 
Burnham  was  a  farewell  hospitality  to  Benjamin  True- 
love,  the  young  Quaker  seer,  who,  now  Quarterly  Meeting 
sessions  were  over,  was  about  to  leave  Dunkirk,  where  he 
was  the  guest  of  Pentecost  and  Deborah  Sandwith.  The 
iron-master  was  fond  of  gathering  young  men  about  his 
board  and  would  have  preferred  having  Friend  Truelove 
to  supper  without  asking  any  of  his  own  Sandwith  kin, 
but  Hecla  overcame  his  fretful  objections  and  prevailed 
upon  him  to  let  her  invite  both  Joshua's  brothers  and 
her  Aunt  Deborah.  True,  the  invitation  to  Pentecost 
Sandwith  was  a  mere  formality,  for  since  the  quarrel 
over  the  spinet  in  the  parlors  at  Burnham,  Pentecost 
had  kept  his  vow  of  not  crossing  his  brother's  threshold. 
Deborah,  his  wife,  however,  still  frequented  the  house. 
She  approved  of  Pentecost's  stand  in  the  matter  of  the 
spinet,  but  she  believed  that  in  going  to  Burnham  she 
fulfilled  a  pious  duty  she  owed  her  brother-in-law's 
motherless  children. 

It  was  Deborah  Sandwith  who  arrived  before  the 
other  guests  of  the  evening.  While  up  stairs  arranging 
her  cap  she  said  to  Harmony:  "I  wish,  dear  child,  to 

76 


A   VISION   OF   JUDGMENT  77 

speak  to  thee  privately.  Suppose  thee  takes  me  into  thy 
bedchamber  for  a  moment." 

Harmony  silently  led  her  into  her  little  bedroom, 
which,  like  Pilgrim's  Chamber  of  Peace,  faced  the  east. 
It  was  furnished  plainly,  with  none  of  the  pretty  touches 
common  to  a  young  girl's  room.  It  was  seldom  anybody 
entered  it  save  Harmony  herself,  for  her  love  of  privacy 
was  understood  and  respected  by  the  household.  Having 
shut  the  door,  Deborah  Sandwith,  a  calm  matronly  figure 
in  her  rich  mouse-colored  gown,  turned  to  her  niece 
with  benignant  earnestness  in  her  round  lineless  face: 

"Benjamin  Truelove  confided  to  me  a  letter  that  is  in 
reply  to  one  slipped  into  his  hand  at  Meeting  last  Sec 
ond  Day  by  some  one — a  young  girl,  he  surmises — who 
had  a  concern  on  her  mind  about  her  state.  It  was  the 
writer's  wish  that  she  might  be  prayed  for.  The  letter 
was  unsigned,  and  dear  Benjamin  desired  me  to  seek 
out  the  author  and  give  her  his  answer." 

She  paused.  Harmony  showed  signs  of  agitation.  The 
elder  woman  went  on : 

"I  thought  at  first  that  Hetty  must  have  written  the 
letter.  Hetty,  the  dear  child,  seems  so  full  of  Christian 
longings  when  she  opens  her  mind  to  me,  I  have  been  in 
daily  hope  of  her  receiving  a  deeper  draught  of  the 
Spirit.  But  Hetty  tells  me  she  did  not  write  it.  Then  it 
came  to  me  that  thee,  Harmony,  might  have  been  moved 
through  Benjamin's  influence  to  see  the  merits  and 
necessities  of  a  Eedeemer.  I  have  often  prayed  thee 
might  be  guided  aright  in  heavenly  paths.  Thy  adopted 
father  is  somewhat  indifferent," — her  tone  altered  a  little 
as  it  did  always  in  speaking  of  Mr.  Sandwith — "and  I 
know  thy  mother's  persuasion  naturally  inclines  thee  to 


78  HECLA   SANDWITH 

find  truth  in  teachings  other  than  those  of  our  Society. 
Nevertheless,  I  have  had  fond  hopes  of  thee,  my  dear 
Harmony.  Thy  stepsister,  Hecla,  has  disappointed  me 
by  her  love  of  the  World.  I  fear  her  thoughts  are  little 
set  on  things  above.  It  would  greatly  rejoice  me  to  have 
thee,  like  Hetty,  a  Friend  by  inward  and  outward  pro 
fession.  I  perceive  that  my  judgment  has  not  been  amiss 
and  that  thee  has  penned  the  letter."  She  gave  Har 
mony's  cheek  a  slight  caress.  "May  thee  be  led  by  Ben 
jamin's  answer  to  give  thyself  indeed  to  the  Lord." 

Deborah  Sandwith  proceeded  to  search  for  the  letter 
— a  matter  of  some  inconvenience,  as  she  had  placed  it 
in  a  black  silk  bag  tied  round  her  waist  under  her  gown 
and  serving  for  pocket.  She  was  surprised,  despite  her 
words,  at  this  act  of  Harmony's,  for,  though  a  girl  who 
shunned  amusements  and  had  serious  tastes,  Harmony 
had  always  been  reticent  on  the  subject  of  her  religious 
feelings.  Friend  Deborah,  with  other  members  of  the 
Sandwith  family,  had  attributed  the  girl's  quiet  ways 
to  delicate  health.  She  was  not,  like  Hetty,  a  birth 
right  member  of  the  Meeting,  was  not  even  a  Sandwith 
by  blood,  and  that  was  enough  to  discredit  in  Deborah 
Sandwith's  mind  the  likelihood  of  Harmony — sprung 
from  pure  Calvinistic  stock — ever  becoming  one  of  them 
selves  in  Spirit. 

Harmony,  having  taken  the  letter,  turned  to  the  win 
dow,  where  she  slipped  it  with  nervous  fingers  into  her 
bosom.  Deborah  Sandwith  waited,  thinking  she  would 
have  something  to  say  to  her.  But  Harmony  was  silent, 
her  eyes  absently  fixed  on  the  distant  roofs  of  Dunkirk 
rising  through  masses  of  trees.  Below  the  window  lay 
an  apple  orchard,  on  the  gnarled  and  mossy  branches  of 


A   VISION    OF   JUDGMENT  79 

which  lingered  still  some  of  their  time-touched  bloom. 
The  late  afternoon  sun  trailed  long  red  fingers  through 
the  grass.  Tree-trunks  glowed  like  burnished  copper. 
The  wistful  peace  of  a  perfect  May  twilight  was  slowly 
sinking  on  the  earth.  Stirring  zephyrs  wafted  into  the 
chamber  the  perfume  of  lilac  and  locust  bloom. 

"There  is  dear  Benjamin  now  coming  through  the 
orchard,"  the  Quakeress  said  gently  at  Harmony's  side. 
"Is  thee  going  to  speak  to  him  to-night  or  would  thee 
like  me  to  do  so?  Thee  knows  he  leaves  us  on  the 
morrow." 

"No,  no,  I  beg  thee  not  to  mention  that  I  wrote  the 
letter.  I  do  not  wish  him  to  know." 

Deborah  Sandwith's  face  denoted  mild  disapproval  of 
the  girl's  protesting  tone.  The  pink  bonnet  Harmony 
had  worn  to  First  Day  Meeting  rose  before  her  eyes. 
After  all,  she  was  not  wholly  without  her  sister's  taste 
for  vain  dress,  and  the  letter  may  have  been  but  a  pass 
ing  impulse  born  of  the  evangelist's  eloquent  addresses. 
So  the  Quakeress  answered : 

"Well,  perhaps  it  is  best  so — if  thee  is  not  yet  quite 
clear  in  thy  mind." 

Benjamin  Truelove  slowly  approached  the  house.  The 
snowing  petals  fell  from  the  groined  orchard  boughs 
flecking  his  fine  upright  shoulders.  He  held  his  beaver 
in  his  hand  and  his  face  was  lifted  with  a  rapt  ex 
pression  to  the  tree-tops,  whence  came  the  chirp  of  nest 
ing  birds.  As  he  drew  near  the  two  heard  his  voice,  in 
the  cadences  that  charmed  listeners  at  Meeting,  recite 
the  passage  from  Solomon's  Song:  "For,  lo,  the  winter 
is  past,  the  rain  is  over  and  gone;  the  flowers  appear  on 
the  earth,  the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is  come" 


80  HECLA   SANDWITH 

"Dear  Benjamin!"  Deborah  Sandwith  murmured. 
"He  has  certainly  the  joy  and  spiritual  blessing  of  the 
Lord.  Come,  Harmony,  let  us  go  down  and  meet  thy 
father's  guest." 

On  descending  to  the  parlors  they  found  assembled 
there  Joshua  Sandwith,  Hecla  and  the  Englishman, 
Eichard  Hallett.  On  seeing  the  last,  Deborah,  draw 
ing  Hecla  aside,  asked  in  a  whisper  how  it  happened 
that  the  stranger  was  one  of  the  evening's  guests.  She 
had  heard  of  the  young  man  and  his  visits  to  Burnham 
and  had  regarded  it  as  an  act  of  imprudence  on  the 
iron-master's  part  to  open  his  house  and  introduce  his 
daughter  to  one  whose  antecedents  and  "convictions" 
were  so  little  known  to  him.  To  invite  him  to-night 
seemed  to  her  a  real  impropriety.  A  moment  later  Ben 
jamin  Truelove  made  his  appearance  at  an  open  French 
window  looking  out  on  the  orchard.  He  still  held  his 
beaver  in  his  hand  and  there  lingered  on  his  lips  the 
smile  with  which  he  had  greeted  the  singing  of  the  birds. 
For  a  moment  he  stood  regarding  those  in  the  parlors, 
with  a  radiant  face,  as  he  said  in  his  clear  silver  tones : 
"Peace  be  to  this  house !"  then  he  advanced  and  clasped 
his  host's  hands.  Joshua  drew  Hallett  forward,  saying: 
"This,  Friend  Truelove,  is  Eichard  Hallett,  a  young 
Englishman  I  wish  thee  to  know.  I  met  him  in  town 
and  persuaded  him  to  join  us  at  supper."  Gideon  Sand 
with,  his  niece,  Hetty  Wain,  and  other  guests  now  arriv 
ing,  the  iron-master  led  the  way  into  the  dining-room. 

The  supper  was  a  bountiful  one.  Aunt  Milky  Lawson, 
the  negro  cook,  whose  temper  was  not  of  the  best,  hav 
ing  relieved  herself  during  the  afternoon  by  fighting 
Noah  Jackson  with  flat-irons,  had  exerted  herself  in  the 


A   VISION   OF   JUDGMENT  81 

preparation  of  the  dishes.  It  was  Dunkirk  etiquette  to 
praise  the  food  and  in  due  season  the  negress,  jealously 
posted  at  the  pantry  door,  had  her  ears  gratified  by 
compliments  paid  the  fried  chicken,  the  acorn-flavored 
ham,  the  pot  cheese  and  the  rolls.  Hamp,  the  Avhite- 
aproned  dining-room  boy,  was  kept  busy  supplying  the 
guests  with  hot  waffles,  while  Noah  waved  over  their 
heads  a  peacock  fly-brush  to  keep  off  candle-moths. 

The  dining-room  was  furnished  in  the  plainly-carved 
mahogany  that  best  suited  the  iron-master's  taste;  the 
linen  was  of  fine  Irish  weave,  and  the  table  got  its 
light  from  wax  tapers  in  silver  candle-sticks.  Hecla  sat 
at  one  end  of  the  board  taking  charge  of  the  copper 
coffee-urn — a  gift  from  two  of  Mr.  Sandwith's  grateful 
proteges — on  which  was  inscribed  in  large  script  "The 
Orphans'  Friend."  By  Hecla's  side  was  Doctor  Proud- 
foot,  his  cheeks  the  color  of  the  madeira  he  was  fond  of 
sipping  in  the  sanded  parlor  of  the  Eed  Lion  Inn. 

"The  man  that  marries  you,  Hecla,  will  get  an  ex 
cellent  wife,"  he  said  with  old  time  gallantry,  as  he 
stirred  his  coffee,  into  which  Hecla  had  not  forgotten 
to  drop  five  lumps  of  sugar. 

"There  is  no  jewel  like  sincerity,  Doctor  Proudfoot," 
she  smiled  back;  "that's  one  of  my  father's  maxims. 
You  know  Aunt  Milky  must  have  the  credit  for  the 
supper." 

The  old  physician  looked  his  admiration.  "Well,  you 
should,  at  least,  have  the  credit  of  presiding  over  it 
gracefully.  You  have  been  seeing  a  good  deal  of  Mr. 
Hallett,  have  you  not  ?"  he  slyly  added. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Hallett  has  come  out  quite  frequently  to 
see  father." 


82  HECLA   SANDWITH 

"It  is  wonderful,  isn't  it,  how  devoted  young  men 
sometimes  are  to  fathers?" 

Hecla,  as  she  mentioned  her  father,  glanced  a  little 
anxiously  down  the  table,  with  its  cut  crystal  and  Nan 
kin  china,  to  where  Mr.  Sandwith,  wearing  a  new  wig 
of  a  new  hue,  was  talking  to  the  young  man  referred  to. 
The  iron-master  had  several  favorite  table  topics,  not 
all  of  them  calculated  to  please  certain  of  his  guests. 
If  he  discoursed  on  Presbyterianism,  there  were  Mrs. 
Hamilton  and  her  daughter  Jane,  distant  cousins  of 
the  family,  who  might  chance  to  be  wounded ;  and  there 
was  the  subject  of  the  galvanic  battery,  which  received 
smiling  tolerance  from  Doctor  Proudfoot,  but  was  a 
delicate  allusion  in  the  presence  of  Deborah  Sandwith. 
The  latter  had  a  quarrel  of  many  years'  standing  with 
Mr.  Sandwith  on  this  subject  owing  to  his  wish  to  try 
the  treatment  on  her  niece  Thomazine,  a  semi-invalid 
making  her  home  with  her.  Hecla  hoped  if  her  father 
had  mounted  one  of  his  hobbies  it  was  the  harmless  one 
of  "The  Beast,"  a  monster  of  his  imagining,  the  body 
of  which  represented  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  its 
numerous  horns,  Democracy,  Free  Trade  and  such  like 
civic  evils,  that  he  delighted  to  draw  on  the  back  of 
envelopes  for  the  uninitiated.  The  iron-master  was, 
however,  deep  in  another  topic — the  Battle  of  Armaged 
don,  which  he  was  convinced  was  to  take  place  not 
many  years  hence  in  the  valley  of  the  Mississippi.  He 
was  expressing  his  belief  in  the  voice  of  one  who  had 
received  the  information  from  Heaven.  Joshua  Sand 
with,  when  he  began  his  harangues,  had  a  habit  of  clos 
ing  his  eyes. 

It  was  perhaps  fortunate  he  did  so  now,  for  other- 


A   VISION    OF    JUDGMENT  83 

wise  he  would  have  perceived  that  Benjamin  Truelove, 
seated  at  his  right  hand,  while  listening  to  his  reasons 
for  believing  that  "the  United  States  was  the  isle  that 
should  wait  for  God,"  had  his  clear  eyes  fixed  on  Har 
mony,  who  sat  almost  opposite,  unconscious  of  his 
earnest  regard.  She  was  feeling  the  letter  like  a  heart 
beat  in  her  bosom  and  longed  for  the  moment  when  she 
might  lock  herself  in  her  chamber  and  read  the  words 
the  young  seer  had  written.  Even  if  she  had  observed  the 
admiration  her  gentle  self  excited  in  him,  she  would 
have  felt  only  a  wonder  that  Benjamin  Truelove,  liv 
ing  on  the  heights  of  spiritual  life,  breathing  God's 
messages,  should  thus  be  drawn  to  earth  and  earthly  at 
tachments.  Hecla  had  placed  Hetty  next  the  preacher 
to  please  her  Aunt  Deborah,  for  she  knew  she  had  her 
niece  in  contemplation  as  a  suitable  helpmeet  for  him. 
Hetty,  besides  being  brought  up  in  strict  fashion,  was 
blessed  with  worldly  goods,  which  to  Friend  Deborah's 
thinking  added  much  to  the  eligibility  of  the  match. 
But  Deborah  did  not  notice  that  her  match-making 
plans  were  not  succeeding.  She  was  busy  expressing  to 
her  neighbor,  Mrs.  Hamilton  (whose  Calvinism  did 
not  prevent  her  wearing  ear-rings  with  seven  little 
gold  balls,  hair  bracelets  and  a  watch  chain  of  large 
tortoise-shell  links),  how  firmly  she  was  persuaded  that 
if  the  situation  of  the  poor  African  bondmen  was  not 
relieved  the  country  would  be  plagued  as  ever  Egypt 
for  retaining  Israel.  As  Hecla  refilled  her  cup  she 
paused  long  enough  to  whisper:  "I  am  disappointed 
that  thy  brother  David  is  not  with  us  to-night,  Hecla.  I 
had  hoped  dear  Benjamin  might  have  a  talk  with  him 
ere  his  departure.  I  felt  a  concern  to  tell  him  his  in- 


84  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

fluence  was  a  little  needed  in  thy  brother's  case.  I  fear 
thee  does  not  see  much  of  David  now.  Thy  father  was 
not  quite  wise  in  letting  him  live  at  Mrs.  Littlepage's. 
The  associations  can  hardly  be  refining  or  best." 

"Don't  be  distressed,  aunt,"  Hecla  returned  quickly. 
"David  will  be  here  presently.  Thee  knows  how  busy  he 
is.  Doubtless  something  at  the  Works  has  delayed  him." 

David  did  not,  however,  put  in  his  appearance,  and 
Hecla  sighed  as  she  thought  how  angered  her  father 
would  be  at  his  stepson's  absence.  She  was  glad  to  see 
that  he  was  still  engrossed  in  conversation  with  Eichard 
Hallett. 

The  Englishman  had  been  a  polite  listener  to  his 
host's  lengthy  discourse.  The  tea-party  was  to  him  a 
novel  experience  and  gave  him  an  insight  into  the  odd 
customs  and  ideas  of  the  people  among  whom  he  contem 
plated  settling.  He  was  not  a  religious  man.  Left  early 
in  youth  to  his  own  resources  and  having  had  scarcely 
any  family  life  to  foster  spiritual  sentiment,  the  prob 
lems  he  had  had  to  solve  were  exclusively  of  a  practical 
nature.  Without  being  antagonistic  to  religion  he  had 
little  or  no  sympathy  with  its  emotional  side.  With  his 
firmly-rooted  English  ideas  of  morality  he  respected 
religion  as  an  educator  and  as  a  preserver  of  society,  but 
its  ascetic  and  mystic  phases,  represented  by  such  types 
as  Benjamin  Truelove  and  others  collected  around 
Joshua  Sandwith's  table  that  night,  in  no  wise  at 
tracted  or  impressed  him.  In  his  previous  meetings  with 
the  old  iron-master  they  had  talked  solely  on  matters 
of  business,  on  the  mining  and  economic  conditions  in 
England  and  in  America,  and  Hallett  had  admired  the 
sterling  good  sense  and  knowledge  he  had  displayed.  So 


A   VISION    OF   JUDGMENT  85 

it  was  with  feelings  of  surprise  that  he  listened  to  what 
struck  him  as  the  extravagant,  even  ridiculous  utter 
ances  of  his  host  on  the  present  occasion.  He  gave,  how 
ever,  his  courteous  attention  to  the  iron-master's  as 
sertion  that  the  Battle  of  Armageddon  was  to  take  place 
in  the  Valley  of  the  Mississippi  and  to  other  strange 
interpretations  and  applications  of  Old  Testament 
prophecies  and  obscure  passages  in  Eevelation. 

But  when  the  talk  took  another  turn  and  Joshua 
Sandwith  began  relating  his  experiences  in  locating  ore ; 
how  he  had  obeyed  the  prompting  of  dreams  and  had 
resorted  to  "wise  men"  and  their  hazel  wands,  Hallett 
felt  the  quick  exasperation  of  a  student  of  science.  He 
loved  his  calling  and  regarded  it  too  seriously  to  hear  pa 
tiently  any  one  confuse  geology  with  visions  and  hocus- 
pocus.  He  therefore  ventured  to  remark  that  perhaps 
Mr.  Sandwith  attached  too  much  value  to  mere  coinci 
dence  in  ore-finding.  The  comment  showed  perhaps 
more  candor  than  tact,  and  his  host  was  quick  to  take 
up  the  aspersion  cast  upon  his  dreaming,  of  which  he 
was  particularly  proud. 

"So,  Friend  Hallett,  thce  has  no  faith  in  dreams,"  he 
lisped  sharply,  "and  would  set  thyself  up  against  the 
plain  words  of  Holy  Writ.  Has  thee  forgotten  that  it  is 
said :  God  speaketli  once,  yea  twice,  yet  man  perceiveth 
it  not,  in  a  dream,  in  a  vision  of  the  night?  Or  perhaps 
thce  is  no  student  of  the  Scriptures,  but  prefers  thy 
works  of  science !" 

Hallett  flushed  a  little  as  he  noticed  that  the  iron 
master's  tones  had  arrested  general  attention,  and  it  was 
in  a  half-scandalized  silence  that  Deborah  Sandwith, 
Mrs.  Hamilton  and  the  others  awaited  his  reply. 


86  HECLA   SANDWITH 

"I  don't  mean  to  question  the  value  of  prophecies 
and  visions  in  religious  matters,  Mr.  Sandwith,"  he 
said  quietly,  "but  ought  we  to  apply  the  words  you  quote 
to  dreams  of  a  general  sort  and  make  the  latter  guides 
in  our  daily  affairs  ?  For  instance,  geology  has  taught  us 
a  knowledge  of  the  earth's  strata,  its  age  and  different 
conditions,  and  I  think  we  should  utilize  such  know 
ledge." 

"I  fear,  young  man,"  his  host  rejoined  with  heat, 
"that  thy  scientific  studies  have  caused  thee,  like  many 
others,  to  doubt  the  truths  of  Scripture.  The  present 
generation  thinks  itself  much  smarter  than  those  before 
it  in  religious  matters.  I  warrant  thee  accepts  the  views 
of  modern  science  regarding  the  creation  of  the  world." 

"My  belief,  Mr.  Sandwith,  is  that  the  story  of  creation 
as  related  in  Genesis,  is  symbolic,  that  the  writer — " 

"What!  Thee  actually  dares  to  put  thy  own  inter 
pretations  on  the  Word  of  God  ?"  Joshua  burst  forth  in 
growing  choler. 

Hallett  answered  calmly:  "We  do  not  know  how  the 
old  Hebrew  authors  meant  their  writings  to  be  under 
stood  and  we  are  at  liberty,  therefore,  to  interpret  them 
according  to  such  light  as  is  provided  us.  A  work  that 
can't  be  read  intelligently  can  hardly  be  inspired." 

There  was  something  so  daring  in  this  statement  in 
the  opinion  of  the  pious  tea-drinkers  at  Joshua  Sand- 
with's  table  that  the  suspense  was  extreme  as  they  bided 
the  other's  answer.  Hecla,  who  had  listened  to  the  dis 
pute  with  growing  concern,  most  of  all  wondered  if 
her  father's  irascibility  would  lead  him  to  forget  the 
respect  due  a  guest.  At  this  moment  attention  was 
distracted  by  the  strange  actions  of  Benjamin  True- 


A    VISION    OF    JUDGMENT  87 

love,  and  the  words  on  the  iron-master's  lips  were  never 
uttered.  The  young  seer  had  risen  from  his  chair  and, 
standing  with  outstretched  hand,  had  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  dining-room  door.  The  expression  of  his  face  as  he 
thus  stood  was  so  intense,  so  painful,  that  a  murmur  of 
apprehension  arose  from  the  whole  circle.  It  was  evi 
dent  Benjamin  Truelove  was  about  to  deliver  one  of  his 
"messages."  He  remained  motionless,  his  hand  raised  as 
if  to  ward  off  some  specter  of  ill  which  he  saw  with  inner 
eyes.  Then  he  spoke  in  a  clear  sonorous  voice : 

"Euin  approaches  this  house.  Its  shadow  hath  even 
now  fallen  upon  the  threshold !" 

The  effect  of  this  may  be  conceived  when,  as  if  in 
confirmation  of  the  prophecy,  the  door  opened  and 
David,  flushed  with  haste,  came  in.  Hecla  hardly  sup 
pressed  a  cry,  and  Joshua,  whose  sallow  skin  had  paled, 
exclaimed  nervously:  "Friend  Truelove,  what  is  the 
meaning  of  thy  words  ?" 

The  seer  had  sunk  back  into  his  chair  and  was  slowly 
passing  his  hands  over  his  eyes  like  one  awakening  out 
of  a  trance.  At  the  iron-master's  sharp  reiteration  of 
his  question,  he  answered  in  barely  audible  tones:  "A 
cloud  encompasses  me ;  I  can  see  no  further ." 

Hecla,  who  had  recovered  her  presence  of  mind,  rose 
from  the  table  and  led  the  way  into  the  parlors,  leaving 
together  her  father,  David  and  Benjamin  Truelove,  who 
still  sat  in  his  chair  in  the  exhausted  state  to  which  his 
sudden  inspiration  had  reduced  him. 

Joshua  Sandwith  now  approached  his  son  who,  as 
tonished  and  indignant  at  the  sensation  his  arrival  had 
created,  remained  near  the  door.  "Where  has  thee 
been?"  he  demanded  furiously.  "Why  is  thee  so  late?" 


88  HECLA    SANDWITH 

"I  came  as  soon  as  I  could,"  Dave  said  sullenly. 
"What's  all  this  fuss  about?  One  might  think  I  had  the 
plague  the  way  I'm  greeted.  I  guess  I'd  better  have 
stayed  away." 

"It  had  been  well  if  thee  had  not  come,"  was  the  re 
ply.  The  iron-master,  like  the  majority  of  his  guests, 
interpreted  the  prediction  as  a  warning  that  David  was 
to  bring  ruin  on  his  family.  "It  had  been  well  indeed !" 

"Then  if  I'm  not  wanted  I'd  better  take  myself  off," 
Dave  retorted  in  offense. 

"Thee  dares  to  answer  me  in  such  a  manner !"  Joshua 
cried  hoarsely.  "Go,  and  thee  leaves  my  roof  for  good !" 

"Father,  father,"  Hecla  said  beseechingly,  reentering 
the  room.  She  had  feared  there  would  be  a  scene  between 
David  and  his  stepfather.  Laying  her  hand  on  the  iron 
master's  arm  she  whispered:  "Thee  is  forgetting  Ben 
jamin  Truelove !" 

When  Joshua  and  his  guest  had  left  the  dining-room, 
Hecla  said  to  her  brother :  "Dave,  be  careful  not  to  pro 
voke  father  to-night.  He  is  quite  unnerved.  Everything 
has  gone  wrong.  I  wish  the  tea-party  had  never  been 
given.  Come,  take  thy  place  at  the  table  and  let  Hamp 
bring  thee  thy  supper."  Kissing  him  affectionately  she 
hurriedly  returned  to  the  parlors. 

She  found  to  her  relief  that  some  of  the  awkwardness 
caused  by  the  "message"  of  the  young  preacher  had 
been  dispelled  by  the  cheerful  efforts  and  tact  of  Doctor 
Proudfoot.  It  was  nevertheless  evident  that  the  company 
was  anxious  for  an  opportunity  to  discuss  the  scene 
that  had  just  taken  place,  and  looks  of  concern  and 
sympathy  were  given  her.  After  a  minute  Eichard  Hal- 
lett  came  up. 


A    VISION    OF    JUDGMENT  89 

"Miss  Sandwith,"  he  said  apologetically,  "I  fear  my 
remarks  at  table  were  displeasing  to  your  father.  I 
should  not  have  expressed  my  opinions  so  frankly." 

"My  father  gets  a  little  excited  over  arguments,  Mr. 
Hallett,"  Hecla  anstwered,  "but  he  is  never  displeased 
by  the  statement  of  an  honest  belief.  Your  ideas  are 
somewhat  unusual — I  mean  for  Dunkirk — but  they  are 
most  interesting ;  I  am  sure  I  found  them  so." 

"You  mean  the  question  of  the  world's  creation  ?  Do 
you  care  for  geology?"  Hallett  asked  not  without  sur 
prise. 

"Yes;  I  studied  geology  a  little  at  Lititz  and  rather 
liked  it.  But  I  do  not  know,"  she  added  with  a  smile, 
"if  the  subject  was  treated  there  in  a  very  modern 
way." 

"Lititz, — that's  the  great  Moravian  school,  is  it  not? 
I  have  heard  of  it  often.  The  Moravians  have  an  ex 
cellent  reputation  as  educators  in  England." 

"They  are  supposed  to  be  the  best  instructors  here, 
too.  It  is  strange,  isn't  it?  for  they  are  so  narrow  in 
their  views  of  religion.  I  liked  Lititz  and  the  life 
there,  though." 

"The  Moravians  seem  to  make  a  deep  impression  on 
those  they  educate,"  Hallett  continued.  "My  older 
brother  went  to  school  at  Neuwied  on  the  Ehine.  You 
know  that  is  one  of  their  important  establishments.  I 
was  to  go  there,  also,  but  both  my  parents  died  and  I  had 
to  learn  geology — out  in  the  mines !" 

"Probably  that  was  the  best  school  of  all,"  Hecla  sug 
gested. 

"For  geology,  perhapst,"  he  answered  gravely.  "But 
I  have  often  regretted  I  did  not  have  more  school  life. 


90  HECLA    8ANDWITH 

My  brother  was  a  splendid  young  fellow — he  died  soon 
after  he  grew  up.  He  told  me  so  much  about  Neuwied 
that  I  have  always  taken  an  interest  in  the  Moravians." 

"You  should  visit  some  of  their  settlements  here  in 
Pennsylvania,  Mr.  Hallett.  Bethlehem  is  particularly 
worth  visiting.  They  have  another  large  school  there." 

"Do  you  want  to  send  me  back  to  school,  Miss  Sand- 
with?"  Hallett  laughed.  "Perhaps  you  think  I  need  a 
little  Moravian  influence  in  religious  matters." 

"I  think  you'll  find  enough  religious  influence  right 
here  in  Dunkirk,"  she  replied  with  a  smile.  "But  you 
must  be  careful  how  you  talk  about  the  teachings  of 
modern  science." 

"I  have  quite  scandalized  your  guests  to-night,  haven't 
I?" 

"Some  of  them,  perhaps,"  she  admitted,  and  then  to 
dismiss  the  subject:  "You  must  find  Dunkirk  very 
dull." 

"Not  at  all,  Miss  S'andwith,"  he  assured  her.  "I  am 
too  busy  for  time  to  hang  heavily.  Everything  is  new  and 
interesting  to  me  here,  and  I  have  been  shown  so  much 
kindness.  I  like  Dunkirk,  I  assure  you." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,  for,  after  all,  one  has  an  affection 
for  one's  native  town.  You  must  come  to  see  my  father 
often,  Mr.  Hallett.  He'll  sometimes  argue  and  get  ex 
cited,  but  you  and  he  will  agree  about  a  great  many 
things — if  not  about  geology.  He  admires  frankness 
and  independence  above  all  things,"  she  added  eagerly. 
"He  may  seem  furious  at  being  opposed,  but  he'll  like 
you  none  the  less  for  opposing  him." 

"You  and  your  father  are  very  congenial,  aren't  you  ? 
People  in  Dunkirk  have  told  me  so/' 


A    VISION    OF    JUDGMENT  91 

"Yes,"  she  answered  proudly,  "I  admire  my  father 
more  than  anybody  else  in  the  world." 

"Still  harping  on  'my  father*,"  Doctor  Proudf oot  said, 
coming  up  in  time  to  hear  this  last  speech.  "He  is  ask 
ing  for  you,  Hecla.  I  believe  Friend  Truelove  is  about 
to  take  his  departure." 

"And  I  must  be  leaving  also,  Miss  Sandwith,"  Hal- 
lett  said.  "I  hope  that  we  shall  have  another  talk  some 
time  about  Lititz  and  the  Moravians." 

"Father  and  I  will  always  be  glad  to  see  you  at 
Burnham,"  she  replied  as  she  gave  him  her  hand,  al 
though  she  noticed  the  disapproving  expression  of  her 
Aunt  Deborah,  who  had  approached  to  kiss  her  good 
night.  Hecla  knew  Mr.  Sandwith 's  tastes  and  was  aware 
of  the  favor  with  which  he  had  regarded  the  English 
man  ever  since  his  first  visit  to  the  house.  The  old  iron 
master  missed  his  former  busy  life,  and  his  daughter 
had  not  been  slow  to  see  signs  of  melancholy  which  in 
creased  the  frequency  and  violence  of  his  fits  of  irrita 
bility.  It  was  therefore  for  his  sake  that  she  had  put 
cordiality  into  the  tone  with  which  she  gave  Hallett  the 
invitation  at  parting. 

The  present  conversation  was  the  first  of  any  conse 
quence  she  had  had  with  Hallett  and  it  left  her  with  a 
feeling  of  increased  interest  in  him.  She  believed  that 
he  was  a  strong  man,  capable  of  self-control  and  de 
termination  of  purpose.  She  was  perhaps  more  struck 
with  these  qualities  in  him  to-night,  owing  to  the  emo 
tional  experiences  through  which  she  had  just  lived. 
Hecla  had  reentered  the  parlors,  knowing  that  everybody 
was  thinking  and  doubtless  talking  of  the  prophecy  of 
Benjamin  Truelove,  and  she  dreaded  lest  her  Aunt  De- 


92  HECLA    SA^TDWITH 

borah  or  her  Uncle  Gideon  should  say  something  about 
its  application  to  David.  Hecla's  religious  faith  had  re 
ceived  a  shock  at  the  time  of  her  mother's  death.  She 
refused  to  believe  a  kind  God  could  have  willed  the  de 
struction  of  one  so  gentle  and  good,  and  the  effect  had 
been  to  create  in  her  heart  a  secret  doubt  of  spiritual  rev 
elations  such  as  Benjamin  Truelove's  that  were  credited 
by  those  around  her.  Startled  as  she  had  been  that 
evening  by  the  suddenness  of  the  preacher's  "message," 
she  had  almost  immediately  recovered  from  the  in 
stinctive  thrill  it  had  caused.  She  denied  to  herself  that 
the  prediction  was  inspired,  and  she  was  ready  to  main 
tain  that  her  stepbrother's  arrival  at  the  moment  of  its 
delivery  was  merely  an  unfortunate  coincidence.  She 
realized,  however,  that  she  was  alone  in  such  an  opinion, 
except  in  the  case  of  Eichard  Hallett  and  Doctor  Proud- 
foot.  She  had  seen  what  an  impression  the  "message" 
had  made  on  her  father  and  she  knew,  too,  how  much 
material  her  relatives  would  make  out  of  it,  since  al 
ready  they  distrusted  and  disliked  Dave.  Consequently 
her  quiet  chat  with  Eichard  Hallett  had  been  a  real  re 
lief  and  rest. 

Benjamin  Truelove's  going  was  the  signal  for  a  gen 
eral  breaking-up  of  the  tea-party,  to  each  of  whom 
Hecla  composedly  bade  farewell  as  if  nothing  had  oc 
curred  to  mar  the  evening's  pleasure. 

Joshua  Sandwith  had  counted  on  having  speech  with 
his  stepson  upon  the  departure  of  his  guests,  but  David, 
after  eating  his  supper,  had  at  once  left  the  house.  The 
iron-master,  when  he  discovered  this,  relieved  his 
worked-up  feelings  by  lecturing  the  German  factotum, 
Karl,  for  some  negligence  in  his  day's  work ;  after  which 


A    VISION    OF    JUDGMENT  93 

he  wound  up  the  Dutch  clock  in  the  hall  and  lit  his 
candle.  As  he  said  good  night  to  Hecla  he  remarked  ab 
ruptly:  "I  saw  thee  talking  to  Eichard  Hallett  after 
supper.  His  religious  views  are  not  as  sound  as  they 
should  be,  but  he  is  an  excellent  young  man  of  whose 
honesty  I  am  confident." 

"Father,  dear,  promise  thee  won't  worry  over  what 
Benjamin  Truelove  said  !"  Hecla  entreated. 

"Well,  if  evil  comes  to  my  household,  I  shall  accept 
it,  daughter,  and  ask  no  sympathy  of  the  world.  Yet  I 
do  not  deserve  trouble  of  the  Lord.  I  have  defrauded 
no  one  and  the  needy  never  have  been  turned  empty- 
handed  from  my  door."  He  sighed  as  he  spoke,  pushing 
his  wig  back  from  his  brow  with  a  nervous  hand. 

Hecla  kept  hold  of  his  drab  coat  as  they  stood  to 
gether  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"Thee  has  always  been  kind  and  good,  father,"  she 
said,  seeking  out  the  homeliest  feature  of  his  sallow  face 
and  kissing  it  devotedly,  "and  thee  ought  to  trust  to 
that."  Then  she  added :  "Please  don't  tell  Dave  what 
happened  to-night.  It  will  discourage  him  so !" 

And  at  last  her  entreaties  won  his  unwilling  consent. 

Hetty  Wain  had  decided  to  spend  the  night  at  Burn- 
ham,  and  when  Hecla  and  she  were  up  stairs  undress 
ing  for  bed,  Hetty,  jerking  her  boots  off  with  character 
istic  energy,  remarked : 

"Well,  so  thy  father  wants  thee  to  marry  that  English 
man  !  If  thee  does  I  presume  the  'teachings  of  modern 
science'  won't  interfere  with  thy  frivolous  tastes !" 

"What  nonsense  you  do  talk,  Hetty  !"  Hecla  answered. 
She  stood  in  front  of  the  mirror,  letting  down  her  hair. 


94  HECLA    SAKDWITH 

The  reflection  in  the  glass  showed  a  face  full  of  melan 
choly  thoughtfulness.  Hecla's  eyes  were  wide-set  under 
a  smooth,  brow.  She  had  her  father's  firm  mouth,  her 
mother's  fine  skin.  She  often  regretted  she  had  no  color 
like  her  school-friend,  Ehoda  Markham,  whose  cheeks 
burned  like  a  young  maple-leaf.  At  such  times  Hecla 
looked  at  her  small  well-turned  ears :  they  consoled  her 
for  all  imagined  defects.  She  inherited  these,  she  be 
lieved,  from  her  worldly  ancestor,  John  Jervis,  court 
painter  to  George  III.  She  knew  well  the  story  of  the 
painter  and  his  sister,  Lady  Bridgewater,  whose  ears 
were  the  only  blemish  of  a  beauty  eulogized  in  verse  by 
Alexander  Pope.  "What  is  a  perfect  ear  ?"  Lady  Bridge- 
water  had  demanded,  and  the  painter,  removing  his  vel 
vet  cap  and  touching  one  of  his  own,  had  answered: 
"That,  ma'am,  is  a  perfect  ear." 

"Hecla,  thee's  so  vain,"  Hetty  presently  continued. 
"I  believe  thee  is  admiring  thy  ears.  I  should  think 
thee'd  hate  them.  Small  ears  mean  people  are  selfish." 

Hetty  had  comfortable  feelings  on  the  subject  of  ears, 
even  if  her  own  had  never  been  compared  to  "twin  brier 
roses"  by  Blair  ISTandine  in  an  "ode."  She  had  not  in 
herited  John  Jervis'  ears,  perhaps,  but  at  all  events  she 
had  his  silver  tankard  and  the  portrait  painted  by  him 
self,  heirlooms  of  which  she  accused  Hecla  of  envying 
her. 

"I  don't  believe  I  am  so  selfish,  Hetty,"  her  cousin 
said  in  answer  to  this  last  criticism. 

"Anyway,  it's  not  right  to  think  all  the  time  about 
thy  looks  the  way  thee  does.  I  saw  Jane  Hamilton 
counting  the  flounces  on  thy  skirt  to-night.  I  wonder 
Benjamin  Truelove  didn't  have  a  message  for  thee  on 


A    VISION    OF    JUDGMENT  95 

foolish  and  worldly  adornment,  as  long  as  he  was  mak 
ing  himself  so  disagreeable." 

Hecla  paid  no  further  attention  to  her  cousin's  talk, 
and  that  expeditious  lady  slipped  on  her  nightgown  and 
jumped  into  bed.  "Well,  all  I  can  say,"  she  called  out  in 
her  shrill  treble  from  under  the  blankets,  "is  that  I 
hope  the  prophecy  about  thy  family  coming  to  grief  will 
turn  out  not  to  be  true!  It  certainly  was  meant  for 
Dave,  notwithstanding  thee's  so  indignant  at  my  saying 
so.  Anyhow,  it's  quite  decided  me  not  to  marry  Benja 
min  Truelove,  for  if  unpleasant  things  are  going  to 
happen  I  don't  want  to  know  beforehand.  He  can  have 
Harmony  if  he  wants  to.  Yes,  Hecla,  there's  one  thing  I 
have  quite  made  up  my  mind  about,"  she  went  on  sol 
emnly,  bolting  up  in  bed,  "and  that  is  never  to  marry 
goodness.  There's  enough  goodness  in  the  family  already 
with  Aunt  Deborah  and  Uncle  Pentecost !" 

Hecla  had  moved  to  the  open  window  and  now  stood, 
a  white-robed  graceful  figure,  looking  down  on  the  blue 
moonlit  garden.  Shadows  of  the  black  walnuts  guard 
ing  the  house  fell  on  the  turf  like  great  splashes  of 
India  ink.  Flying  squirrels,  nocturnal  merrymakers, 
dropped  noiselessly  from  branch  to  branch  and  from 
the  meadow  stream  came  the  wild  silver  jangle  of  mat 
ing  frogs.  The  night  air  was  laden  with  the  passionate 
odor  of  the  honey-locust  profusely  flowering  under  the 
window:  floating  up  it  filled  the  chamber  with  almost 
oppressive  sweetness. 

Hecla  mused,  holding  back  the  curtain  with  one  white 
bare  arm.  She  was  thinking  of  all  that  had  taken  place 
that  night, — of  the  prophecy,  and  her  talk  with  Eichard 
Hallett.  Though  she  refused  to  believe  in  the  "mes- 


96  HECLA    SANDWITH 

sage/'  it  had  left  her  depressed,  and  out  of  the  sadness 
of  her  feelings  was  born  a  longing  to  see  her  cousin, 
"Wentworth  Oliver.  His  mother  had  told  her  that  after 
noon  that  he  walked  his  room  at  night.  What  troubled 
him?  Was  he  in  love?  she  asked  herself  again  for  the 
hundredth  time.  Hecla  knew  her  cousin  too  intimately 
to  credit  her  Aunt  Seaborn's  claim  to  a  perfect  under 
standing  of  him.  Suppose  he  married  Ehoda  Markham, 
as  his  mother  wished.  It  was  a  suitable  match  and 
ought  she  not  to  be  glad?  Instead  she  sighed,  and  her 
heart  felt  again  sharply  the  wound  of  his  strange  neg 
lect  of  her. 

Dreamily  she  continued  to  gaze  on  the  hushed  outer 
world  that  lay  like  a  rapt  ear  open  to  the  harmonies  of 
heaven.  Above  her  in  the  deep  violet  void  she  saw  the 
bland  moon  gleaming,  its  crystal  light  shattering  among 
the  tender  leaves  of  the  grove.  The  frogs  shook  the 
garden  quiet  with  silver  choirings,  and  something  in  her 
blood  stirred  as  if  in  answer.  The  spring  night  palpi 
tated  with  wistful  magic;  it  seemed  to  thrill  with  soft 
appeals  and  shadowy  knowledge  of  life  and  love. 

Suddenly,  as  she  brooded,  beyond  the  rim  of  distant 
hills  a  lurid  red  shimmer  flooded  the  sky,  mounting  to 
the  zenith,  making  the  black  branches  of  the  trees  stand 
out  like  a  black  net-work.  After  a  few  moments  the 
glow  gradually  died  out  and  Hecla  could  hear  across 
the  distance  the  heavy  sigh  of  her  father's  furnace  toil 
ing  like  a  Cyclops  in  the  night. 

"Come  to  bed,  Hecla,"  Hetty  called  out  impatiently. 
"What's  the  pleasure  of  standing  moping  at  the  moon? 
Thee  knows  the  guineas  make  such  a  fuss  in  the  morn 
ing  one  could  as  soon  sleep  with  a  windlass  creaking  in 


A   .VISION    OF    JUDGMENT  97 

one's  ears.  And  besides,  night  air  gives  one  diseases.  I 
don't  suppose  I  shall  get  much  sleep  anyway  after  two 
cups  of  coffee — I'm  sorry  now  I  drank  them !" 

"You  are  always  being  sorry  about  that,  Hetty." 

The  two  cups  of  mocha  Hetty  had  indulgently  sipped 
at  supper  kept  her  mind  active  as  a  time-piece.  She 
stirred  restlessly  under  the  light  fleecy  blankets  her 
grandmother  Sandwith  had  woven  and  bequeathed  with 
strict  injunction  they  should  never  be  used  "for  the 
ironing  board."  The  linen  sheets  held  a  soothing  smell 
of  lavender,  but  the  coarse  middle  seam  rubbed  her 
tender  young  knees.  Hearing  Hecla's  even  breathings 
she  wished  she  had  kept  her  awake  to  entertain  her. 
With  open  eyes  she  lay  meditating  on  the  troubles  with 
her  farmers,  the  liberties  of  dress  Hecla  enjoyed,  and 
the  incidents  of  the  tea-party. 

Presently  she  fancied  she  heard  a  sound  of  some  one 
in  the  garden  below  the  window.  She  listened,  then 
quietly  slipped  out  of  bed  and  parting  the  curtains  took 
a  peep.  A  white  dust  of  moonlight  covered  the  ground 
and  she  could  see  standing  under  the  trees  the  blurred 
figure  of  a  man.  Hetty  recognized  with  indignation  that 
this  was  Blair  Nandine,  her  admirer,  who,  not  satisfied 
with  writing  Hecla  a  poem  on  her  home-coming,  had 
stolen  out  to  serenade  her.  She  glanced  at  the  couch. 
Hecla  was  still  quietly  sleeping.  She  crept  to  the  bed 
side  and  pulled  the  curtains  to;  then  with  fearful  joy 
lifted  the  pitcher  from  the  wash-stand  and  bore  it  to  the 
window.  "Well,  I'll  settle  him  and  Hecla,"  she  avowed 
silently,  as  she  prepared  to  give  her  faithless  lover  a 
douche. 

Blair  ISTandine  was  close  under  the  window  now  and  a 


98  HECLA    SANDWITH 

ray  of  moonlight  glinted  on  an  object  he  drew  from  his 
coat  pocket.  Hetty,  biting  her  nether  lip,  waited,  hold 
ing  the  jug  aslant.  At  the  first  sound  of  the  flute  com 
plaining  on  the  night  air  the  water  descended.  Hetty, 
forgetting  herself,  laughed  aloud. 

"What  is  the  matter  ?"  came  in  drowsy  tones  from  the 
bed.  Hecla  leaned  on  one  arm  looking  at  Hetty,  whose 
plump  little  person  stood  in  a  bath  of  moonlight. 

"I  heard  a  man  under  the  window !" 

"I  hear  no  one." 

"He's  gone  now/7 

"Blair  Nandine's  a  fool,"  Hetty  reflected  as  she 
climbed  back  to  bed,  "but  I  think  perhaps  I'd  marry 
him  if  it  weren't  for  Uncle  Gideon's  money." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   BRAIN    DEVISES   LAWS   FOR   THE   BLOOD 

Hecla  Sandwith's  surprise  at  her  cousin  Wentworth 
Oliver's  neglect  of  her  had  grown  to  indignation  as  the 
days  passed  without  bringing  him  to  the  house  again 
after  his  first  formal  call  in  company  with  Eichard  Hal- 
lett,  the  English  stranger.  Wentworth  was  her  nearest 
relative  on  her  mother's  side,  being  the  son  of  her  Pres 
byterian  aunt,  Mrs.  Seaborn  Oliver,  who  had  paid  a 
tearful  visit  at  Burnham  the  afternoon  of  the  supper- 
party  given  to  Benjamin  Truelove.  Hecla  and  he  had 
always  been  on  affectionate  terms,  and  their  first  separa 
tion  had  taken  place  when  Wentworth  had  departed  to 
the  law  school  at  Carlisle  and  his  cousin  to  Lititz.  Went 
worth  had  returned  home  after  finishing  his  studies  and 
entered  into  the  practice  of  his  profession. 

Wentworth  was  several  years  older  than  Hecla  and  so 
much  resembled  her  in  appearance  that  the  two  might 
well  have  been  taken  for  brother  and  sister.  Like  his 
cousin,  Wentworth  represented  something  of  a  reaction 
in  character  from  his  environment.  He  was  sprung  from 
a  family  of  Scotch-Irish  Presbyterians  of  the  most  unal 
terable  dye,  and  his  passionate  nature — which  separated 
him  in  kind  from  his  ancestors — never  could  shake  off 
wholly  the  dead  hand  of  a  narrow  oppressive  conscience. 

99 


100  HECLA   SANDWITH 

His  father  had  died  when  he  was  a  small  boy  and  his 
mother  had  undertaken  to  inculcate  in  him  her  own 
somber  views  of  life. 

The  Oliver  household  was  a  melancholy  one,  conserv 
ing  all  the  sternest  ethics  of  Presbyterianism.  Went- 
worth  had  been  permitted  few  of  the  liberties  enjoyed 
by  other  boys  of  the  town.  He  had  not  been  allowed  to 
dance  or  play  cards;  the  drinking  of  wine  was  looked 
upon  by  his  mother  as  an  offense  against  God  and  man. 
On  Sundays  in  the  prim  parlor,  with  its  blinds  draAvn 
down  to  hide  sights  of  the  outside  world,  he  was  made 
to  spend  the  afternoon  studying  the  Five  Points  of 
Calvinism  while  often  David  Sandwith  tantalizingly 
capered  before  the  window  displaying  fishing-tackle. 
And  after  Wednesday  evening  prayer-meeting  it  had 
been  his  heroic  duty  to  escort  home  timid  Miss  Abby 
Speakman,  the  little  lame  mantua-maker,  instead  of  his 
boyish  admirations.  The  effect  of  so  rigorous  and  in 
sistent  a  religious  education  had  been  to  nurture  the 
emotional  side  of  his  nature — to  cause  him  to  feel  in 
tensely  the  beauty  and  joy  of  life.  Only  a  consideration 
for  his  mother  held  in  check  his  secretly  ripened  senses. 
He  was  keenly  alive  to  the  obligations  of  a  son,  and  he 
strove  to  save  lachrymose  and  melancholy-minded  Mrs. 
Oliver  any  distress  by  his  actions.  His  filial  patience  and 
self-control  were  indeed  among  the  most  admirable 
things  of  Wentworth  Oliver's  character. 

With  Hecla's  return  after-two  years'  absence  at  board 
ing-school  a  disturbing  element  had  entered  the  young 
lawyer's  life.  And  it  was  because  he  had  resolved  to  see 
as  little  as  possible  of  his  cousin  that  he  had  avoided  his 
uncle's  house  and  refused  the  invitation  to  the  tea-party 


THE    BEAIN   DEVISES  101 

given  to  the  Quaker  seer.  Wentworth  had  always  been 
fond  of  Hecla  but  it  was  not  until  their  first  long  sepa 
ration  that  he  realized  he  had  for  her  the  feelings  of  a 
lover.  When  he  came  back  from  Carlisle  and  entered 
into  law  practice,  his  cousin  was  away  at  Lititz ;  now  she 
was  at  home  again  he  felt  more  than  ever  how  much  he 
loved  her. 

Wentworth  knew  all  thought  of  marriage  with  Hecla 
Sandwith  was  idle  because  of  Quaker  prejudice  against 
the  union  of  first  cousins.  Although  his  Uncle  Joshua 
was  not  as  strict  a  Friend  as  his  brothers,  Pentecost 
and  Gideon,  he  was  well  aware  that  he  would  not  waive 
this  objection  to  their  marriage,  and  Wentworth  owed 
his  uncle  too  much  not  to  feel  bound  to  consider  his 
scruples.  It  was  he  who  had  paid  his  expenses  at  the  law 
school  from  which  he  had  graduated  with  honor  some 
eighteen  months  before;  since  then  his  career  had  been 
furthered  by  Joshua  Sandwith's  influence  and  advice; 
and  thus  from  the  first  he  had  stepped  into  an  honor 
able,  lucrative  practice.  So  Wentworth,  after  his  visit 
to  Burnham  in  company  with  Eichard  Hallett,  had 
avoided  the  house,  and  when  invited  to  the  tea-party  had 
pleaded  his  arduous  occupations  as  an  excuse. 

A  week  had  elapsed  since  then.  Both  Hecla  and  Went 
worth  had  been  invited  to  a  house-party  at  Moshannon 
Hall,  the  remote  mountain  home  of  Ehoda  Markham, 
Hecla's  school  friend,  to  whom  Mrs.  Oliver  had  alluded 
as  a  suitable  wife  for  her  son  Wentworth.  The  invita 
tion  also  included  Harmony,  and  a  large  number  of 
Dunkirk  young  people,  among  whom  were  Hetty  Wain, 
her  admirer,  Blair  Nandine,  the  Episcopal  rector, 
Mr.  Donovan,  and  Eichard  Hallett.  Wentworth's  first  in- 


102  HECLA    SANDWITH 

clination  had  been  to  refuse  the  invitation,  but  on  men 
tioning  his  intention  to  Mrs.  Oliver  she  had  a  little  sur 
prised  him  by  dissolving  into  tears.  He  was  working  too 
hard ;  he  did  not  look  well ;  she  heard  him  pace  his  room 
at  night  when  he  ought  to  be  sleeping;  it  was  his  duty 
to  take  more  recreation.  Though  tears  were  Mrs.  Oli 
ver's  constant  refuge,  familiarity  with  their  flow  never 
bred  contempt  in  the  feelings  of  her  son.  Wentworth 
hastened  to  assure  her  of  his  willingness  to  join  the  rid 
ing  party  to  Moshannon  Hall  if  it  was  her  wish  that  he 
should  go.  Mrs.  Oliver  ceased  her  weeping  at  this  ac 
quiescence.  She  had  her  own  private  reasons  for  urging 
Wentworth  to  accept  the  Markhams'  invitation — reasons 
in  accord  with  the  plans  for  her  son's  welfare  she  had 
unfolded  to  Hecla  the  day  of  her  call  at  Burnham.  See 
ing  him  seated  on  his  horse  the  morning  fixed  for  the  ex 
cursion  Mrs.  Oliver  had  pleasing  visions  of  Wentworth's 
marriage  with  Ehoda  Markham,  who  she  was  now  sat 
isfied  would  make  him  a  proper  wife.  Wentworth's 
yielding  to  his  mother's  wishes  was  partly  based  on  the 
conviction  that  after  all  it  was  an  act  of  prudence  to  take 
the  trip  to  Moshannon  Hall.  His  absence  would  doubt 
less  be  commented  upon;  and  he  did  not  mean  to  let 
Hecla  grow  suspicious  of  his  avoidance  of  her,  for  which 
reason  he  had  decided  also  to  call  at  Burnham  and  fetch 
Hecla  into  town  where  the  party  was  to  assemble. 

It  was  a  clear  May  morning  when  Wentworth  started 
out  to  his  uncle's  house.  A  laggard  spring  had  reached 
the  uplands  of  Pennsylvania.  The  tender  green  which 
had  wreathed  the  maples  before  the  court-house  was 
deepening  into  a  rich  hue.  Swallows  swept  the  crystal 
day  with  cheerful  twitter,  and  there  was  a  dazzle  of 


THE    BRAIN    DEVISES  103 

clean  sunshine.  Notwithstanding  the  ban  he  had 
placed  on  his  love,  the  young  lawyer  felt  his  heart  fill 
with  the  philosophy  of  nature,  so  alien  to  the  rigorous 
dictates  of  conscience.  As  he  rode  along  the  hilly  streets 
of  Dunkirk,  gazing  on  the  town's  dull  doings,  passion 
asked,  Why  must  he  indeed  renounce  his  cousin  ?  What 
ever  his  duty  might  be,  he  felt  they  had  been  destined 
for  each  other.  Was  happiness  or  ill  fate  before  him? 
Was  it  possible  for  him  to  command  his  instincts,  con 
trol  his  sentiments  and  impulses?  What  sacrifice  life 
demanded ! 

As  he  approached  the  house  he  saw  that  Hecla  was  al 
ready  mounted  on  her  yellow  mare,  Bonnie.  She  had 
never  seemed  more  beautiful  than  to-day  as  she  waited 
for  him,  dressed  in  her  well-fitting  riding-habit  of  Saxon 
cloth,  her  face  shaded  by  a  wide-brimmed  hat  caught  on 
one  side  with  rosettes  and  strings  and  having  a  flowing 
black  feather.  He  saw  now  the  unwisdom  of  attempting 
to  approach  her  again  on  the  old  cousinly  footing. 

Hecla  glanced  at  him  curiously  as  they  turned  their 
horses'  heads  down  the  gravel  drive  under  the  late-leaf 
ing  walnuts,  the  pride  of  Burnham.  She  had  caught 
only  distant  glimpses  of  her  cousin  since  his  call  with 
Richard  Hallett  and  she  now  noticed  that  he  looked  un 
happy  and  ill-at-ease.  It  softened  her  feelings  of  offense 
at  his  weeks  of  neglect,  and  she  interrupted  his  excuses 
for  not  having  been  to  see  her  by  saying  gently : 

"You  needn't  apologize,  Wentworth!  I  know  how 
busy  you  have  been.  True,  I  have  felt  hurt  about  it,  but 
that  was  foolish.  Please  tell  me  about  your  work! 
Father  says  you  are  getting  Uncle  Pentecost's  old  prac 
tice." 


104  HECLA    SANDWITH 

"Yes,  I  am  beginning  to  see  my  way  ahead." 

Hecla  missed  something  in  the  tone — the  enthusiasm 
with  which  he  was  wont  to  speak  in  former  days.  Her 
quick  glance  rested  on  his  spare  cheek  to  which  the  red 
Scotch-Irish  freckles  gave  the  effect  of  tan.  His  blue 
eyes  were  fixed  in  front  of  him;  under  his  wideawake 
hat  his  tawny  hair  showed — the  hair  that  matched  her 
own.  Hecla  felt  a  softening  of  her  heart  as  she  looked 
at  him  and  she  regretted  the  more  her  unkind  thoughts 
of  him. 

"Wentworth,"  she  said,  yielding  to  all  her  old  fond 
ness,  "aren't  you  troubled  about  something  ?" 

"Why  should  you  think  that?" 

The  manner  was  defensive  and  it  hurt  her  a  little. 
"I  hardly  know,"  she  faltered.  "You  are  not  looking 
well  and  you  seem  so  different." 

"I  feel  quite  well." 

They  were  crossing  the  rustic  bridge  that  arched  the 
meadow  stream  and  she  saw  the  willow  which  gave  shade 
to  the  little  island  arbor.  Wentworth  and  she  had 
planted  the  willow  sapling  just  before  he  left  for  the 
law  school  and  it  had  now  grown  to  a  good-sized  tree.  It 
struck  her  afresh  how  long  had  been  their  separation. 
After  all,  was  not  that  sufficient  explanation  for  Went- 
worth's  conduct  ?  He  had  grown  to  care  less  for  her  in 
her  absence ! 

The  horses  had  whinnied  their  recognition  at  the  door 
and  as  they  moved  along  they  kept  nuzzling,  bringing 
the  bodies  of  the  two  riders  in  contact.  Wentworth  drew 
his  horse's  head  back  with  a  quick  jerk  of  the  reins. 
Hecla  considered  him  doubtfully. 


THE    BRAIN    DEVISES  105 

"Wentworth,  have  I  offended  you  in  any  way?"  she 
asked  wistfully. 

"No,  you  have  not." 

There  seemed  to  Hecla  to  be  a  real  want  of  gracious- 
ness  in  Wentworth's  short  reply.  She  felt  that  her  over 
tures  were  being  met  so  unwillingly  that  further  efforts 
of  the  kind  would  lack  self-respect.  It  was  with  some 
stiffness  that  she  said  abruptly:  ."Suppose  we  give  the 
horses  their  heads." 

She  touched  Bonnie  with  her  whip  as  she  spoke  and 
they  started  on  a  brisk  canter  which  soon  brought  them 
to  the  main  street  of  the  town,  where  before  one  of  a 
row  of  plain  limestone  houses  the  rest  of  the  party  were 
gathered.  They  had  not  spoken  after  quickening  their 
pace,  but  as  they  again  drew  rein  Wentworth  started  to 
say  something.  Hecla,  however,  interrupted  the  words 
by  hailing  with  apparent  gaiety  her  cousin  Jane  Hamil 
ton. 

Jane  stood  on  the  horse-block,  preparing  to  mount  her 
steed,  assisted  by  a  pleasant-faced  young  man  in  cleri 
cal  garb.  "Well,"  she  exclaimed  in  her  cheerful,  com 
monplace  voice,  "I'm  glad  to  see  you  so  prompt,  Hecla. 
We  are  making  an  early  start  so  we'll  reach  shade  be 
fore  the  heat  of  the  day.  Tom  Brass  is  as  usual  behind 
hand  with  'The  Mountain  Echo/  Hetty,  Harmony, 
mother  and  Mr.  Donovan  will  wait  for  that.  You  and 
Mr.  Donovan  haven't  met,  have  you  ?"  she  added.  Hecla 
bowed  stiffly  to  Jane's  companion.  Her  affection  for 
her  father  led  her  to  absorb  many  of  his  prejudices 
as  well  as  his  principles,  and  one  of  the  former  was  dis 
like  of  "hireling  preachers,"  as  he  called  them.  An 


106  HECLA    SANDWITH 

Episcopal  clergyman  was,  in  Mr.  Sandwith's  eyes,  a  pa 
pist  in  sheep's  clothing ;  and  one  of  the  biggest  horns  of 
"The  Beast"  he  was  fond  of  drawing  was  labeled 
"priesthood." 

Mr.  Donovan  acknowledged  the  bow  by  saying  cor 
dially  : 

"It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  meet  you  at  last,  Miss  Sand- 
with.  Your  sister  and  I  are  already  friends." 

"Indeed?"  was  her  cool  answer.  "Harmony  has  not 
happened  to  mention  it;  but  then  I  have  been  home 
such  a  short  time." 

The  young  rector  turned  away  with  an  angry  flush. 
He  admired  Harmony  and  he  knew  of  Mr.  Sandwith's 
strong  religious  prejudices.  In  Hecla  he  had  hoped  to 
find  an  ally. 

Hecla  was  too  preoccupied  to  regret  this  rude  speech. 
She  was  still  irritated  with  Wentworth  and  had  no  in 
tention  of  riding  any  farther  with  him.  Confidence  in 
her  attractions  assured  her  that  there  would  be  no  diffi 
culty  in  finding  an  escort  on  the  ride.  There  was  Blair 
Nandine  who  had  sent  her  on  her  home-coming  some 
high-flown  verses, — he  would  hasten  to  claim  the  honor 
of  riding  with  her.  To  her  surprise  the  village  beau, 
instead  of  joining  her,  continued  his  conversation  with 
the  daughter  of  the  county  judge.  From  his  dignified 
greeting  Hecla  could  see  that  he  was  for  some  reason 
deeply  offended  with  her.  A  little  discomfited  she 
glanced  about  her,  for  the  party  was  moving  off,  and 
with  a  sense  of  relief  caught  sight  of  Eichard  Hallett 
making  his  way  toward  her.  He  reached  her  side  and, 
thus  escorted,  Hecla  urged  her  horse  in  advance  of  the 
others  without  noticing  Wentworth. 


THE   BRAIN   DEVISES  107 

The  clatter  of  the  passing  cavalcade  brought  curious 
citizens  to  door  and  window.  From  the  center  of  the 
town  they  turned  into  a  quiet  side  street  where  the  lime 
stone  houses  were  less  closely  adjoining.  These  had  solid 
stone  walls  inclosing  small  front  yards  high  above  the 
flagged  pavement,  with  long  flights  of  stone  steps  lead 
ing  to  the  doorways.  Over  the  walls  hung  snowballs, 
currant  bushes  and  trumpet  vine.  The  garden  beds  with 
their  old-time  flowers  and  herbs  were  neatly  bordered 
with  box. 

Leaving  Dunkirk  they  struck  the  great  "trading  road" 
over  which  in  spring  and  fall  Conestoga  wagons  lum 
bered,  railroads  not  having  pushed  aside  the  old  turn 
pike  traffic.  The  road  led  through  a  water-gap  into  a 
neighboring  valley.  There  the  eye  caught  a  vision  of  blue 
mountains,  range  shouldering  range  until  they  melted  in 
the  loftier  heights  of  the  Alleghanies.  Climbing  peach 
orchards  patched  the  hillsides,  and  along  the  pike  bladed 
corn-fields  spread  or  meadows  pied  with  cowslips  and 
wild  carrot  flowering  into  Mechlin  lace.  Overhead  was 
the  blue  heaven.  Plumps  of  rain  had  quieted  the  dust 
and  a  light  breeze  stirred  the  drooping  pines. 

Hecla  was  a  good  horsewoman  and  she  was  conscious, 
as  they  moved  through  the  cheerful  May  day,  that  she 
looked  her  best.  From  the  first  she  had  been  aware  of 
Richard  Hallett's  admiration  and  it  had  pleased  her 
vanity;  but  to-day  her  reaction  against  Wentworth  dis 
posed  her  to  kindlier  feelings.  There  was  a  dignity  in 
the  Englishman's  bearing  she  liked :  it  expressed  a  t}rpe 
ef  manhood  different  from  that  to  which  she  was  ac 
customed. 

"I  did  not  know  you  were  to  be  of  our  party,"  she 


108  HECLA    SANDWITH 

began.  "Father  tells  me  you  have  been  visiting  the  coal 
mines  at  Snow  Shoe.  I  am  glad,,  though,  you  found  time 
to  join  us  on  our  trip." 

"It  is  not  only  for  pleasure  I  am  one  of  you/'  he  an 
swered  candidly.  "I  made  a  brief  stay  at  Moshannon 
Hall  last  week,  and  Mr.  Markham  asked  me  to  come  out 
again,  promising  to  show  me  over  his  property.  I  timed 
my  going,  however,  so  as  to  ride  out  with  your  party." 

"You've  always  been  interested  in  coal  mines,  have 
you  not?"  There  was  a  flattering  quality  in  her  fine 
voice  as  she  asked  the  question. 

"Yes,  I  have  devoted  my  life  to  it.  I  was  born  in  the 
great  coal  district  of  England,  and  no  doubt  my  sur 
roundings  gave  me  my  taste  for  the  work." 

"I  hope  you  aren't  disappointed  in  central  Pennsyl 
vania  ?" 

"No,  indeed,  Miss  Sandwith;  I  think  the  country 
wonderfully  promising.  I  feel  there  is  no  end  to  the 
possibilities  of  its  mining  industries.  I  can't  understand 
why  the  Snow  Shoe  Coal  Company  was  so  easily  dis 
couraged.  You  have  to  expect  difficulties  in  business  as 
in  life.  They  should  act  as  a  tonic."  He  spoke  with 
quiet  enthusiasm;  and  while  the  tone  was  confident, 
Hecla  felt  there  was  no  boastfulness  in  the  remark.  She 
looked  at  him  with  a  responsive  show  of  interest,  and 
the  Englishman  continued : 

"I  don't  see  how  your  Dunkirk  business  men  can  help 
realizing  that  the  success  of  Snow  Shoe  means  prosperity 
and  wealth  for  the  town.  With  great  coal  fields  a  few 
miles  distant,  Dunkirk  would  become  an  active  indus 
trial  center;  I  believe  them  practically  inexhaustible." 

Hecla  met  this  with  a  smiling  response.  "That's  what 


THE    BKAIN    DEVISES  109 

my  father  often  says.  He  is  always  dreaming  of  finding 
coal  in  Snow  Shoe." 

"Don't  you  think,  Miss  S'andwith,"  Hallett  said  after 
a  moment,  "that  your  father's  dreams  and  belief  in 
'wise  men'  come  from  his  secret  convictions?  He  has 
had  great  practical  experience  in  locating  ore-mines,  I 
understand." 

"Perhaps  they  do,  Mr.  Hallett,  but  unconsciously; 
father  is  very  honest  and  sincere."  She  hesitated,  then 
she  said :  "It  must  seem  strange  to  you  to  hear  Friends 
talk  so  much  about  dreams  and  prophecies;  but  you 
know  our  belief  in  such  things  is  very  genuine — genuine 
and  very  unfortunate."  She  spoke  earnestly  and  not 
without  bitterness,  for  Benjamin  Truelove's  "message" 
was  still  painfully  in  her  thoughts. 

"I  think  predictions  seldom  prove  a  benefit,"  was  the 
answer.  "If  success  is  promised  it  makes  us  overconfi 
dent;  if  failure,  it's  depressing  and  perhaps  the  cause 
of  the  failure  predicted.  Encouragement  is  always  better 
than  warning." 

Hecla  felt  this  to  be  a  reference  to  her  brother  David 
and  the  prophecy  of  Benjamin  Truelove.  It  seemed  to 
her,  indeed,  that  it  justly  summed  up  the  situation,  so 
far  as  Dave  was  concerned.  He  had  always  had  to  con 
tend  against  public  opinion,  especially  against  the  dis 
approval  both  of  his  Quaker  step-relatives  and  his 
mother's  equally  narrow-minded  Presbyterian  kin.  Her 
father,  too,  had  had  little  patience  with  the  boy's  un 
ruly  independent  nature,  and  was  frequently  as  severe 
with  him  as  at  other  times  he  was  indulgent.  Hecla  had 
always  been  the  one  to  defend  him  against  imputations 
of  wildness  and  incapability.  She  well  knew  that 


110  HECLA    SANDWITH 

Benjamin  Truelove's  unfortunate  prophecy  at  her  fa 
ther's  supper-table  had  added  fuel  to  the  fire  of  this 
disfavor  and  that  her  uncles  and  aunts,  indeed  Dunkirk 
gossip  generally,  must  have  taken  satisfaction  in  the 
apparent  confirmation  by  the  Quaker  seer  of  their  preju 
dice  and  ill-feeling  regarding  Dave.  She  had  no  belief 
in  the  "messages"  and  "prophecies"  which  were  so  much 
a  part  of  Quakerism,  but  she  knew  her  father  had,  and 
she  dreaded  the  effect  Benjamin  Truelove's  words  might 
have  on  him  in  connection  with  her  brother  and  his 
management  of  the  Works.  She  was  therefore  glad  to 
have  Hallett  speak  as  he  did,  and  she  determined  to 
take  advantage  of  the  turn  in  the  conversation  to  say  a 
word  in  Dave's  defense,  feeling  that  Hallett's  interest 
and  good  will  might  some  day  be  valuable  to  her  brother. 

"I  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Hallett,"  she  answered.  "I 
think  these  latter-day  prophecies  ridiculous  and  danger 
ous  and  cruel  in  so  many  instances.  What,  for  instance, 
could  have  been  more  harmful  than  what  you  heard  at 
our  table,  when  my  stepbrother's  arrival  was  greeted  by 
Benjamin  Truelove's  prediction  that  he  was  to  cause  the 
ruin  of  the  family?" 

"I  feel  as  you  do,  Miss  Sandwith,"  Hallett  said  warm 
ly,  "and  I  can  tell  you  that  instead  of  prejudicing  me  it 
made  me  feel  most  sympathetic  and  friendly  toward 
your  brother." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  she  gratefully  answered.  "My 
brother  has  little  encouragement  and  many  to  find  fault 
with  him." 

"You  are  as  devoted  a  sister  as  you  are  a  daughter." 
Hallett's  voice  showed  his  admiration.  The  tone  and 
look  he  gave  her  awakened  in  Hecla  a  feeling  that  the 


THE    BRAIN"   DEVISES  111 

conversation  had  been  on  far  too  intimate  a  plane,  con 
sidering  how  much  of  a  stranger  the  Englishman  was 
to  her.  Somehow,  she  felt  she  had  yielded  unrecover 
able  ground,  and  instantly  an  inimical  instinct  of  sex 
began  fighting  against  the  established  nearness.  Rich 
ard  Hallctt  emanated  an  atmosphere  that  caused  some 
blind  quality  in  herself  to  stir  apprehensively.  She 
glanced  at  him  and  realized  anew  how  much  his  appear 
ance  symbolized  his  strength  and  self-sufficiency  of 
character.  The  large  hands  intimated  a  tenacious  grasp 
of  things.  Here  was  a  man  who  sustained  himself  and 
his  ideas  without  need  of  the  world's  support  or  in 
dorsement. 

Something  positive  in  her  nature  found  satisfaction  in 
the  claim  many  made  on  her  sympathies.  She  was  accus 
tomed  to  her  father's  dependence  on  her,  and  in  former 
years  Wentworth  Oliver  had  paid  her  the  tribute  of 
confiding  in  her.  And  she  found  herself  confiding  in 
Richard  Hallett,  drawing  from  him  aid  and  comfort. 
The  experience  was  new  and  it  hurt  her  pride,  dimin 
ished  her  feeling  of  independence.  With  sudden  tender 
ness  she  thought  of  Wentworth — Wentworth,  whose  de 
ferring  attitude  flattered  her  into  the  belief  that  he 
offered  her  womanhood  a  vocation.  She  blamed  herself 
for  taking  offense  so  easily  at  his  words,  and  she  wished 
she  had  listened  to  what  he  had  attempted  to  say  as  they 
joined  the  others  at  Jane  Hamilton's  steps.  With  grow 
ing  curiosity  and  unrest  she  wondered  with  whom  Went 
worth  was  riding.  She  could  hardly  listen  to  what  Rich 
ard  Hallett  was  saying.  At  last  her  eyes  fell  on  a  way 
side  spring  and  she  asked : 

"Mr.  Hallett,  will  you  get  me  a  drink  of  water  ?" 


112  HECLA   SANDWITH 

She  knew  the  rest  of  the  party  were  not  far  behind 
and  that  in  joining  them  again  the  atmosphere  of  inti 
macy  would  be  in  a  measure  dispelled.  As  she  waited 
she  tried  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Wentworth  and  his  com 
panion. 

The  riding  party  made  a  noonday  stop  at  The  Kattle- 
snake,  an  inn  much  frequented  by  Dunkirk  parties, 
standing  on  a  bench  of  the  Alleghanies  where  it  com 
manded  one  of  the  fine  views  of  the  county.  Ben  Lucas, 
the  innkeeper,  was  known  as  "a  good  provider,"  and  the 
hungry  travelers  did  ample  justice  to  the  dinner  he  set 
before  them. 

After  dinner  Hetty,  to  whom  the  trip  had  offered 
opportunity  for  indulging  her  mischievous  spirits, 
begged  Mr.  Blair  ISTandine  to  treat  them  to  a  Shakespeare 
recitation.  Mr.  Nandine  impersonating  Borneo  was  al 
ways  an  occasion  for  mirth,  and  Hetty  endeavored  to 
make  the  present  performance  as  ridiculous  as  possible. 
She  draped  her  admirer  with  a  Paisley  shawl  borrowed 
from  Mrs.  Hamilton,  and  stuck  in  his  hat  a  feather 
plucked  from  the  tail  of  a  stuffed  peacock  ornamenting 
the  parlor  mantel-piece.  Then  she  arranged  chairs  to 
represent  the  orchard  wall,  hoping  that  Mr.  Nandine 
would  have  a  mishap,  as  frequently  chanced  when  he  at 
tempted  the  leap.  With  poor  plain-looking  Jane  Hamil 
ton  coaxed  into  consenting  to  play  Juliet,  Hetty  felt 
that  the  entertainment  would  be  quite  complete. 

As  she  retreated  into  a  corner  to  enjoy  the  result  of 
her  efforts  she  met  Harmony,  who  was  quietly  leaving 
the  room  on  the  plea  of  a  headache.  Hetty  whispered  to 
Mr.  Donovan  that  she  feared  her  cousin  was  not  well 


THE    BRAIN    DEVISES  113 

and  with  a  little  smile  watched  him  through  the  window 
following  her  in  the  direction  of  the  spring. 

The  young  rector  found  Harmony  seated  by  a  mossy 
trough,  into  which  the  waters  of  a  hillside  spring  gushed 
with  a  pleasant  sound.  A  wealth  of  wild  azaleas  formed 
a  background,  its  rosy  bloom  bee-haunted  and  honey- 
fragrant.  Over  her  head  leaning  branches  cast  their 
shade  and  the  spot  was  full  of  the  drowsy  lisp  of  forest 
leaves.  Harmony  had  been  bathing  her  head  with  her 
handkerchief  dipped  in  the  icy  water  of  the  spring,  and 
was  now  fallen  into  a  reverie.  She  looked  up,  slightly 
startled  at  Mr.  Donovan's  approach. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you?"  he  asked.  "I  heard 
from  Miss  Hetty  you  were  threatened  with  headache; 
but  I  half  suspect  you  fled  the  levities  in  the  parlor." 

"I  thought  I  should  not  much  care  for  the  recita 
tions,"  she  answered.  "It  isn't  quite  right,  is  it,  to  make 
people  ridiculous,  which  I  fear  was  the  purpose  in  ask 
ing  Mr.  Nandine  to  recite — although  I  should  hardly 
say  that." 

"And  have  you  not  a  headache  ?" 

"A  slight  one.  But  I  am  accustomed  to  headaches." 
She  said  it  quietly,  without  appeal  for  sympathy. 

"Let  me  tie  a  handkerchief  around  your  head,"  he 
suggested.  "No,  I  have  a  better  idea.  I  used  to  banish 
pain  by  the  exercise  of  the  will.  Let  me  try  with  you. 
Give  me  your  hand,  please.  Now  that  establishes  what 
is  called  a  'current.'  Then  I  concentrate  my  mind  on 
the  headache.  If  I  don't  take  it  away  altogether  I  shall 
at  least  be  able  to  absorb  part  of  it  myself.  You  know 
the  Scripture  bids  us  share  each  other's  burdens." 

Harmony  had  withdrawn  the  hand  Mr.  Donovan  had 


114  HECLA    SANDWITH 

taken,  and  at  this  application  of  the  Gospel  she  looked 
at  him  a  little  doubtfully,  thinking  he  might  be  jest 
ing. 

"Thank  you,  but  it  is  not  necessary,"  she  faltered.  "I 
shall  be  better  if  I  merely  sit  here  for  a  while." 

"But  do  let  me  try,"  he  urged.  "At  all  events,  it  can 
do  no  harm."  He  again  secured  her  unwilling  hand  and 
composed  his  face  as  if  with  an  effort  to  summon  up  his 
will  power.  "Let  your  mind  relax  as  much  as  possi 
ble/'  he  commanded;  "that  will  assist  the  cure." 

Harmony  endeavored  to  obey,  but  her  heart  beat 
quickly  with  embarrassment  and  over  her  an  usurping 
influence  crept  that  was  strangely  sweet.  She  had  a  shy 
drawing  toward  the  frank-faced  young  Irishman  whom 
she  had  met  from  time  to  time  at  her  cousin,  Jane  Ham 
ilton's,  and  she  enjoyed  talking  to  him  about  his  work  in 
the  lumber-camps  and  other  rude  settlements  around 
Dunkirk.  After  a  few  moments,  she  made  another  effort 
to  withdraw  her  hand,  but  he  would  not  relinquish  it. 
And  so  they  sat  silent  together  under  the  swaying  forest 
boughs. 

Meanwhile  Hecla,  who  had  not  seen  her  stepsister 
since  the  beginning  of  the  recitation,  was  looking  for 
her.  Hetty  observing  this,  asked  innocently:  "Is  thee 
looking  for  thy  sister,  Hecla?  I  think  thee'll  find  her 
out  at  the  spring  being  made  love  to  by  Mr.  Dono 
van." 

"How  foolishly  you  do  talk,  Hetty !"  said  Hecla  impa 
tiently  as  she  left  the  room. 

Her  step  as  she  approached  the  spring  on  the  soft 
moss-carpeted  path  made  no  sound  and  Mr.  Donovan 
and  his  patient  did  not  see  her  until  her  voice  caused 


THE   BRAIN   DEVISES  115 

them  to  look  up.  Hecla  stood  a  few  feet  away,  trying 
to  repress  her  amazement. 

She  said  composedly,  however :  "Harmony,  it  is  time 
to  get  ready  to  start." 

Her  stepsister  rose.  "I  am  ready,"  she  replied.  Then 
addressing  Mr.  Donovan:  "Thank  you  very  much  for 
your  kindness."  She  joined  Hecla,  and  the  sisters,  fol 
lowed  by  the  rector,  whom  Hecla  ignored,  turned  toward 
the  hotel. 

"I  had  no  intention  of  spying  upon  you,  Harmony," 
Hecla  said  stiffly  when  they  were  alone;  'lout  really  I 
can  hardly  credit  what  I  saw.  You  know  how  father 
feels  toward  Mr.  Donovan.  How  can  you  permit  such 
liberties  ?" 

Harmony  did  not  answer. 

"You  have  accepted  Mr.  Donovan,  I  suppose?" 

"He  has  not  spoken,"  Harmony  replied  faintly. 

"And  you  let  him  hold  your  hand?" 

"Mr.  Donovan  was  trying  to  relieve  my  headache." 

"That  is  a  new  method  of  curing  headaches,"  Hecla 
answered  sarcastically.  "If  you  feel  so  badly,  do  you 
think  it  wise  to  continue  the  trip?  If  you  want  to  go 
back  I  am  sure  Doctor  Proudfoot  will  be  glad  to  take 
you  in  his  gig.  He  is  here  at  the  inn  on  his  way  to 
Dunkirk." 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  better,"  was  the  answer.  "You 
know  I  only  came  because  you  urged  it." 

Hecla  went  into  the  inn  to  find  Doctor  Proudfoot. 
She  was  astonished  at  Harmony's  impropriety,  and  an 
gered  over  this  intimacy  that  she  knew  her  father  would 
so  bitterly  resent.  In  arranging  for  Harmony's  return 
she  would  save  her,  she  reflected,  from  the  dangerous 


116  HECLA   SANDWITH 

society  of  the  rector  and  thus  blight  in  the  bud  a  friend 
ship  of  which  she  had  first  heard  from  Mr.  Donovan 
that  morning  as  they  started  forth. 

In  the  hall  she  met  Wentworth  Oliver. 

"Hecla,"  he  said  with  some  restraint,  "I'm  sorry  I 
offended  you  this  morning." 

"And  I  regret  I  was  so  hasty  with  you,  Wentworth." 

"You  are  going  to  ride  with  me  the  rest  of  the  way, 
aren't  you  ?" 

"Unfortunately,  some  one  else  has  asked  me !" 

"I  thought,  Hecla,  it  was  understood  we  were  to  ride 
together." 

"Your  manner  hardly  made  me  think  you  wanted 
to,"  she  answered.  Then  fearing  she  had  given  offense 
she  added:  "I  am  sorry,  Wentworth,  that  I  promised 
some  one  else." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  was  the  reply;  and  it  seemed  to 
Hecla  there  was  relief  in  the  tone. 

She  bit  her  lip  as  she  turned  away,  vowing  as  she 
did  so  that  during  their  stay  at  Moshannon  Hall  she 
would  treat  him  as  he  deserved. 


CHAPTER  X 

AN   UNLESSONED  GIRL 

During  their  three  days'  stay  at  Moshannon  Hall 
Hecla  persisted  in  treating  her  cousin  with  aloofness 
and  permitted  herself  to  be  usurped  by  Richard  Hallett. 
She  had  perhaps  counted  on  this  arousing  Wentworth's 
emotion,  but  he  had  appeared  not  to  care  and  had  de 
voted  himself  to  Rhoda  Markham,  his  host's  daughter. 
Evidently,  Hecla  reflected  as  she  watched  this  intimacy, 
he  was  obeying  his  mother's  wishes.  The  pain  of  this — 
pain  she  did  not  analyze — caused  her  to  show  more 
graciousness  to  the  Englishman  than  doubtless  she  real 
ized. 

She  was  aroused  to  an  uneasy  sense  of  her  impru 
dence  when,  on  the  day  of  their  departure  from  the 
Hall,  Richard  Hallett  invited  her  to  ride  with  him. 
His  manner  implied  that  he  took  it  for  granted  he  was 
to  be  her  escort.  She  would  have  declined,  but  no  one 
else  had  asked  her,  and  some  of  Hecla's  old  admirers 
were  of  the  party;  so  she  could  not  help  seeing  Hal- 
lett's  courtship  was  generally  acceded.  Hecla  was  an 
gry  and  mortified  at  the  situation  in  which  she  found 
herself  involved,  and  blamed  herself  for  encouraging 
the  Englishman  quite  as  severely  as  she  had  blamed 
Harmony  for  the  scene  with  Mr.  Donovan  at  The  Rat 
tlesnake. 


118  HECLA    SANDWITH 

She  had  hoped  that  in  spite  of  their  avoidance  of  each 
other  during  their  stay  with  the  Markhams,  Went- 
worth  would  ride  part  of  the  way  home  with  her,  and 
it  increased  her  illogical  resentment  toward  Hallett  to 
see  her  cousin  take  his  place  beside  Rhoda,  who  was  ac 
companying  them  back  to  Dunkirk,  where  she  was  to  be 
Jane  Hamilton's  guest. 

During  the  morning's  ride  it  became  more  and  more 
evident  how  seriously  Hallett  had  taken  her  gracious- 
ness;  for,  unfamiliar  as  he  was  with  women  and  their 
ways,  he  had  not  suspected  for  a  moment  that  he  had 
been  used  as  a  foil. 

Hallett  had  now  resolved  to  press  his  suit,  and  though 
not  a  vain  man  he  had  confidence  he  would  win  Hecla, 
as  he  had  succeeded  in  many  other  ambitions  in  life. 
His  inspection  of  the  regions  round  Moshannon  Hall 
satisfied  him  that  they  were  rich  in  minerals,  and  Mr. 
Markham  in  their  talks  had  not  only  encouraged  him  to 
settle  in  the  county,  but  had  shown  himself  disposed  to 
enter  into  business  relations  with  him.  The  result  of 
the  three  days'  visit  was  that  the  Englishman  decided 
to  remain  and  invest  his  little  capital  in  coal  fields. 
Having  thus  concluded  to  cast  his  lot  among  the  people 
of  Dunkirk,  he  felt  himself  justified  in  proposing  to 
the  iron-master's  daughter. 

As  they  rode  along  Hallett  realized  that,  though 
Hecla  seemed  to  regard  him  with  favor,  the  moment  was 
not  propitious  for  speaking  of  his  love.  The  hope  of 
making  her  his  wife,  nevertheless,  had  its  effect  upon  a 
habitual  reserve,  and  he  talked  with  some  freedom  of 
his  life  and  his  plans  for  the  future.  These  confidences 
alarmed  the  girl,  coming  as  they  did  from  a  man  of 


AN   UNLESSONED    GIEL  110 

Hallett's  character,  and  she  enveloped  herself  in  a 
mantle  of  remoteness.  Sentimentally  untouched  though 
she  was  by  his  words,  she  found  her  interest  com 
pelled  and  her  imagination  stirred  hy  the  strength  of 
character  they  suggested.  Her  respect  and  intellectual 
admiration  for  Hallett  increased,  and  she  confessed  that 
he  was  gaining  power  over  her.  She  determined  that 
henceforth  she  would  be  careful  to  keep  him  as  much 
as  possible  at  arm's  length;  and  she  was  relieved  when 
at  length  The  Eattlesnake  Inn  was  reached  and  the  ride 
with  him  was  over. 

The  day  was  hot  and  the  party  did  not  leave  the  inn 
until  late  in  the  afternoon.  As  the  horses  were  being 
saddled  Hecla  sought  Wentworth  Oliver  and,  with  some 
thing  of  the  old  frankness  which  had  existed  between 
them,  asked  him  to  be  her  escort  to  Dunkirk.  She  did 
this  not  only  because  she  was  determined  to  escape  the 
attentions  of  Eichard  Hallett,  but  also  because  she  felt 
the  misunderstanding  between  her  cousin  and  herself 
must  end;  for,  after  all,  Wentworth  was  more  to  her 
than  the  preservation  of  pride. 

The  party  started  forth  as  the  golden  day,  shattered 
into  dancing  stars  by  leaves  overhead,  began  to  decline. 
The  early  twilight  of  the  mountains  followed,  giving 
the  air  of  the  shady  road  the  green  vagueness  of  sea 
water.  Above  them  sheer  walls  of  granite  loomed  in 
superb  sky-lines,  where  spiring  pines  etched  themselves 
against  a  suffused  orange  light.  The  riders,  fatigued 
with  the  hard  journey,  moved  along  slowly.  A  solemn 
silence  weighed  on  the  woods,  which  their  voices  seemed 
to  profane  like  laughter  in  cathedral  aisles.  Through 
the  brooding  stillness  could  be  heard  only  the  hollow 


120  HECLA   SANDWITH 

barking  of  squirrels,  tap  of  woodpecker,  or  the  sad 
strophe  of  some  lone  hymning  bird. 

The  narrow  road  twisted  and  turned  in  endless  de 
scent.  Sometimes  it  hung  over  vast  precipices  that, 
through  breaks  in  meshing  vines,  showed  far  below  wild 
seas  of  foliage.  Sometimes  they  glimpsed  vistas  rich  in 
dryadic  romance,  with  their  silver  birches,  shining 
pools  and  soft  flooring  of  ferns.  Piled-up  boulders  by 
the  roadside  seemed  gray  altars  reared  to  forgotten 
gods.  Here  and  there  banks  of  laurel  bloom  shimmered 
in  the  dusk.  The  damp  air  was  bitter  with  forest  decay 
and  rank  odor  of  orchids  and  sulphur-hued  fungi  flar 
ing  on  mossy  logs. 

Wentworth  began  by  talking  of  trivial  things,  and 
Hecla  felt  the  mockery  of  this  almost  like  physical  heart 
ache.  The  realization  of  the  sadness  of  life  mounted  in 
her  as  their  horses  stumbled  along  the  rocky  path.  The 
woods,  clothed  in  their  twilight  mystery,  made  this  ex 
change  of  commonplaces  unbearable.  She  glanced  at 
him  in  the  growing  gloom,  and  it  seemed  to  her  no  one 
could  be  more  lovable.  The  memory  of  past  years,  the 
hundred  confidences  they  had  shared,  all  this  swept  over 
her.  She  determined  the  barrier  between  them  should 
be  broken  down.  Laying  her  hand  gently  on  his  arm, 
she  said  at  last : 

"Wentworth,  tell  me  what  has  happened  since  I  left 
home  to  change  you  so." 

"How  have  I  changed  ?"  he  asked  reservedly. 

"You  are  not  at  all  your  old  self.  You  acted  strange 
ly  the  first  evening  you  called  with  Mr.  Hallett,  and 
you  treat  me  now  as  though  I  had  offended  you.  I 
know  I've  given  you  some  cause  to  feel  offense  dur- 


AN    UNLESSONED    GIRL  121 

ing  the  last  few  days,  but  indeed  I  couldn't  help  be 
ing  hurt  by  your  manner.  Still  it  was  foolish,  I  ad 
mit/'  She  hesitated,  then  said  in  softer  tones:  "I  am 
sorry  I  treated  you  unkindly  at  the  Hall." 

"You  didn't  treat  me  unkindly." 

"Oh,  if  you  didn't  notice  or  feel  it !"  she  retorted 
with  reawakened  pique.  Her  tenderness  conquered,  how 
ever,  and  she  went  on : 

"Wentworth,  let's  stop  talking  like  strangers,  or  as 
if  we  were  simply  on  polite  terms  with  each  other.  Life, 
ah,  life  is  too  short  and  sad  for  quarrels  and  misunder 
standings,  too  short  for  those  who  love  each  other  ever 
to  grow  cold.  I  have  been  wrong,  foolish,  what  you  will ; 
but  I  ask  you  now  to  tell  me  frankly  what  is  the  matter. 
We  are  cousins — have  you  forgotten  that  ?" 

"Cousins,  yes ;  I  wish  we  were  not." 

She  looked  her  reproach  and  pain.  "How  can  you 
say  that?"  she  protested.  "You  must  know  how  it 
wounds  me  to  have  you  say  such  things.  I  can  hardly 
believe  two  years  could  so  have  changed  you.  Why," 
she  cried,  her  voice  trembling,  "there's  no  one  except 
my  father  I  love  so  much.  I  came  back  thinking  what 
happiness  there  would  be  in  seeing  you  again." 

He  tried  to  interrupt  her,  but  she  went  on  unheed- 
ingly : 

"You  mistake  me  in  thinking  I  blame  you  for  caring 
for  others.  I  want  you  to  care  for  others;  it  is  natural 
and  right  you  should ;  but  is  that  a  reason  for  no  longer 
caring  for  me  ?" 

"I  do  care,  Hecla,"  he  broke  out. 

"If  you  cared,  you  would  give  me  your  confidence," 
she  answered  quickly.  "I  know  you  are  in  trouble  or  in 


122  HECLA    SANDWITH 

love."  She  faltered  over  the  last  word.  "In  either  case 
you  wrong  me  to  doubt  my  sympathy.  If  you  care  for 
Rhoda,  why  conceal  it  from  me  ?  Who  is  more  interested 
in  your  life  than  I  am  ?" 

"I  am  not  in  love  with  Miss  Markham." 

"Then  it's  some  one  else/'  she  persisted;  "some  girl, 
perhaps,  you  met  when  you  were  away  at  the  law  school." 

"Stop,"  Wentworth  angrily  interrupted  her,  "you've 
no  right  to  probe  this  way.  You  torment  me,  trying  to 
drag  my  feelings  to  light.  Everybody  has  reserves,  mat 
ters  they  can  not  discuss  with  others." 

She  looked  at  him  with  such  a  wounded  face  that  he 
broke  out  impetuously : 

"Forgive  me  for  seeming  so  unkind."  As  she  did  not 
answer  he  added  in  desperation : 

"We  must  not  see  each  other  any  more." 

"Not  see  each  other?"  she  echoed.  "Why  should  we 
not  see  each  other  ?  You  mean  you  don't  wish  it  ?" 

"Hecla,  you  make  things  hard  for  me." 

"Make  things  hard  for  you  ?" 

"You  must  understand — don't  you,  Hecla  ?" 

She  did  not  answer.  Her  face  was  hidden,  but  he 
knew  she  was  struggling  to  control  her  tears.  The  nuz 
zling  horses  had  drawn  them  close ;  her  hand  lay  against 
the  pommel  of  the  saddle  and  he  caught  it.  Then  he 
leaned  over  and  kissed  her.  Suddenly  releasing  her,  he 
sat  up  straight  in  his  saddle,  holding  the  reins  in  a  hard 
grip.  After  a  moment's  silence,  Hecla  said  faintly : 

"You  shouldn't  have  done  that — even  if  you  are  my 
cousin." 

"It  was  hardly  a  cousinly  kiss,"  he  answered  bit 
terly. 


AN   UNLESSONED    GIRL  123 

The  horses'  hoofs  striking  the  rocks  that  had  bitten 
through  the  road  was  the  only  sound.  It  was  quite  dusk 
now  and  the  air  was  chill.  He  felt  she  was  trembling. 

"Forgive  me,  Hecla,  I  love  you  I" 

"Why  should  you  not?  I  am  your  cousin."  But  her 
voice  failed  her. 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  I  love  you  as  a  man  loves 
the  woman  he  wants  to  marry." 

"You — you  care  for  me  that  way  ?" 

"And  don't  you  care  that  way,  too  ?" 

"How  can  you  think  it !" 

"You've  often  seemed  to." 

"Seemed  to !  You  know  I  never  did !" 

"Hecla,  is  that  true?" 

With  an  instinct  to  leave  him  she  struck  her  horse. 
It  started  forward  with  a  spring,  and  Wentworth,  push 
ing  after,  grasped  her  bridle  in  time  to  save  her  from  a 
fall. 

"Listen,  Hecla,"  he  pleaded;  "don't  be  offended.  I 
never  meant  to  tell  you  this.  But  you  know  now  why 
I've  kept  away  from  you !" 

They  had  reached  a  sharp  bend  of  the  road,  where  a 
sudden  twinkle  of  lights  met  them.  A  log  school- 
house  stood  near-by,  and  a  band  of  mountaineers'  chil 
dren  were  on  their  way  home  carrying  torches  of  rich 
pine  to  guide  them  through  the  dark  tangling  forest. 
The  two  riders  halted  until  the  little  procession  disap 
peared  in  the  depths  of  the  wood-path.  The  lights 
flickered  and  died  out  among  the  leaves  and  the  return 
ing  gloom  seemed  to  sink  more  heavily  on  their  spirits. 

Then  Hecla  spoke  in  a  voice  full  of  sadness : 

"Ah,  Wentworth,  you  ought  not  to  have  done  me  such 


124  HECLA    SAKDWITH 

injustice.  Why,  oh,  why  did  you  tell  me  you  love  me?" 

"I  tried  to  keep  from  telling,"  he  answered;  "but 
you  accused  me  of  coldness  and  indifference.  I  couldn't 
stand  that !" 

"You  acted  so  oddly.  It  was  only  natural  I  should 
have  asked  the  reason !" 

They  rode  on  a  while. 

"Then  you  don't  wish  me  to  love  you  ?"  he  said  at  last. 

"Wentworth,"  she  appealed,  "have  you  considered 
what  this  means  ?  How  do  you  suppose  my  father  would 
feel  if  he  knew?" 

"I  have  thought  of  little  else  since  you  came  home. 
Do  you  imagine  I  haven't  fought  with  myself?  If  you 
understood  how  I  have  suffered  you  wouldn't  judge 
me  so  harshly.  Night  after  night  I  have  walked  the 
floor,  unable  to  sleep,  trying  to  put  the  thought  of  you 
away  from  me.  Hecla,  it  isn't  wrong  for  us  to  love 
each  other.  It  is  only  because  I  owe  Uncle  Joshua  so 
much  I  have  tried  to  respect  his  wishes  and  feelings. 
If  it  were  a  question  of  your  happiness,  too,  it  would 
be  different.  I  shouldn't  let  a  prejudice,  a  mere  preju 
dice,  stand  between  our  happiness.  After  all,  love  is 
the  only  thing  in  life.  It  ought  to  come  first." 

"When  you  say  that  it  isn't  your  best  self  that 
speaks.  You  know  duty  must  always  come  first!  Hap 
piness  for  me?  Ah,  Wentworth,  what  happiness  would 
I  find  if  I  married  you  without  considering  my  father? 
No  matter  how  much  I  loved  you  I  couldn't  do  that. 
No,  we  should  have  no  peace  or  self-respect  if  we  did 
what  we  felt  was  unworthy  of  us." 

The  foot  of  the  mountain  was  reached.  It  was  even 
ing  now.  Through  a  great  gateway  of  pines  they  could 


125 


catch  sight  of  the  spreading  valley  filmed  with  silvery 
mist.  In  front  of  them  ran  the  dusty  road — a  wandering 
white  line  between  meadows  fragrant  with  dew-beaded 
clover.  Here  and  there  the  bluish  gloom  was  pierced, 
with  farm-house  lights  shining  like  lonely  stars.  Above 
the  shoulder  of  a  shadowy  hill  a  slip  of  moon  washed 
into  the  thin  emerald  air. 

They  walked  their  horses  for  a  long  time  without 
words.  At  length  Wentworth  said : 

"There  is  a  great  relief  in  having  told  you.  Hecla, 
if  you  only  loved  me!  It  would  be  so  much  easier  to 
struggle,  knowing  it  was  for  the  sake  of  both." 

"No,  Wentworth,"  she  murmured  mournfully,  "if 
I  loved  you  it  would  only  make  things  harder." 

It  was  one  of  life's  moments  that  make  or  mar 
character.  As  they  rode  along  side  by  side  they  felt  the 
sadness  and  solemnity  of  this  crisis  in  their  youth. 

When  they  reached  the  house  she  said :  "Wentworth, 
you  must  not  see  me  for  a  long  time.  Promise  that  you 
won't  come  near  me." 

She  stood  lingeringly  on  the  porch  until  the  echo  of 
his  horse's  hoofs  died  in  distance;  then  she  quickly 
opened  the  door  and  went  up  stairs  to  her  own  room 
not  letting  the  family  know  of  her  arrival.  Sitting 
down  before  her  desk,  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
clasped  hands.  She  had  sent  him  away;  it  would  be 
months  perhaps  before  she  saw  him  again.  Memories 
like  clods  dropping  on  a  coffin  seemed  to  bury  her  happi 
ness  in  an  irreclaimable  past.  Why  was  he  so  dear  to 
her  ?  How  cruel  life  was  to  deny  him  to  her ! 

Hecla  knew  there  was  no  prejudice  more  deeply  rooted 
among  Friends  than  their  view  regarding  the  mar- 


126  HECLA    SANDWITH 

riage  of  first  cousins ;  that  in  the  eyes  of  her  Sandwith 
kin  to  be  Wentworth's  wife  would  seem  living  in  sin. 
Those  who  defied  the  Discipline  were  put  out  of  Meet 
ing,  were  ostracized,  disgraced.  But  it  was  not  this  that 
affected  Hecla.  She  thought  of  her  father;  she  remem 
bered  only  her  respect  for  him  and  his  respect  for  her. 
It  was  her  knowledge  of  how  he  would  look  upon  Went- 
worth's  love  that  mattered.  Her  father  leaned  upon  her, 
trusted  her,  believed  in  her;  and  she  would  make  any 
sacrifice  rather  than  disappoint  him  or  give  him  sor 
row. 

As  she  sat  there  her  brooding  glance  fell  on  the  bun 
dle  of  letters  Wentworth  had  written  her  while  she  was 
at  boarding-school.  She  drew  it  forth  and  let  the  let 
ters  scatter  on  her  lap.  How  like  bubbles  they  were, 
risen  from  depths  of  unsuspected  passion!  She  had 
read  them  many  times,  seeking  some  cause  to  ex 
plain  their  brevity,  their  commonplaces,  their  lacks 
which  had  so  pained  her.  Now  what  did  they  not  tell  her 
of  secret  struggle  and  restraint !  Bitterly  she  blamed 
herself  for  her  conduct  during  her  stay  at  Moshannon 
Hall,  for  her  small  fevers  of  pique  since  her  return 
from  school.  Was  it  a  proof  that  she  already  loved  her 
cousin  ?  Was  it,  as  he  had  said,  that  she  had  all  along 
unwittingly  revealed  her  true  sentiments  for  him? 
Against  the  belief  that  she  loved  Wentworth  she  shut 
her  eyes  with  desperate  resolution.  No,  it  was  not  so; 
she  did  not  love  him.  Yet  she  trembled  as  his  kiss  re 
peated  itself  on  her  lips. 

Through  the  open  window  came  the  voices  of  the 
whippoorwills  that  haunted  Burnham  in  the  springtime. 
They  were  calling  each  other  through  the  lonely  reaches 


AN   UNLESSONED    GIRL  127 

of  the  night.  A  feeling  of  desolation  came  over  her  as 
she  listened.  She  had  been  too  young  to  know  what 
sacrifices  fate  exacts;  too  inexperienced  to  understand 
that  the  first  law  of  life  is  the  renunciation  of  what  is 
sweetest,  closest  to  the  heart.  She  had  been  only  a  girl, 
but  this  trouble  had  awakened  the  woman  in  her,  ma 
tured  her,  made  her  strong.  She  would  crush  out  of  her 
heart  any  feelings  she  might  have  for  Wentworth,  and 
she  would  help  him  overcome  his  love  for  her.  As  if 
to  seal  her  vow  of  duty  by  some  outward  act,  she  carried 
the  letters  to  the  grate,  and  kneeling,  struck  a  match, 
then  watched  how  they  curled  and  blackened. 

She  rose  from  her  knees  with  a  sense  of  having  taken 
her  heart  out  of  her  breast  and  burned  it,  too,  with  the 
letters.  And  it  was  with  a  sigh  that  she  moved  over 
to  the  window  and  stood  there  for  a  while  musing.  She 
could  see  faintly  in  the  starlight  the  road  winding  un 
der  the  walnut  trees  and  on  over  the  meadow  to  Dun 
kirk.  Wentworth  had  reached  home.  What  was  he  do 
ing  now?  Had  he,  too,  conquered — accepted  the  lesson 
of  life's  renunciations? 

The  whippoorwills  had  gradually  approached  the  house 
and  their  accusatory  music  rose  from  the  darkness  like 
a  tragic  chorus,  hoarse  with  passion.  The  prophecy  of 
Benjamin  Truelove,  which  Hecla  had  refused  to  believe 
in,  recurred  to  her  now  with  a  superstitious  thrill.  The 
whippoorwills  seemed  to  take  it  up  and  repeat  it  over 
and  over.  Alas,  life  was  full  of  trouble  and  sorrow. 
Why  should  their  shadow  not  fall  upon  her  father's 
roof?  And  how  was  she  going  to  face  the  misfortunes 
that  might  come?  Her  father  depended  upon  her.  She 
was  mother  to  Little  Jervis ;  and  the  thought  came  that 


128  HECLA    SANDWITH 

here  was  compensation  for  all  she  renounced.  It  was  to 
her  family  she  owed  her  life. 

With  sudden  impulse  she  crossed  the  hall  softly  to 
the  room  next  her  father's,  where  Jervis  lay.  She 
found  him  asleep  on  his  trundle  bed  and  evidently 
dreaming,  for  there  was  a  grave  smile  on  his  serious 
small  face.  She  watched  him  a  moment,  then  stooping 
down,  pressed  a  kiss  on  his  lips — a  kiss  that  was  a  conse 
cration  of  herself  to  those  for  whom  her  cousin  was  re 
nounced. 


CHAPTEE  XI 

PATHS    SET   IN   DARKNESS 

It  was  a  few  days  after  the  return  of  the  riding  party 
from  Moshannon  Hall  that  Harmony  was  climbing  the 
steep  main  street  of  Dunkirk  on  her  way  to  her  Aunt 
Deborah  Sandwith's.  As  she  passed  Mrs.  Tathem's 
boarding-house  she  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Donovan  com 
ing  out  of  the  deep  Dutch  doorway.  With  a  slight  em 
barrassed  bow  she  was  hurrying  on  when  he,  crossing 
the  street,  overtook  her.  She  had  not  seen  him  since 
their  parting  at  Kattlesnake  Inn.  Ever  since  that  day 
she  had  accused  herself  of  impropriety  in  letting  the 
young  rector  hold  her  hand.  She  feared  that  he  regarded 
her  now  with  less  respect. 

"I  hope  you  are  quite  well  again,  Miss  Harmony,"  he 
said. 

The  reference  to  her  headache  brought  new  shyness, 
and  she  answered  that  she  was  quite  well. 

"You  do  not  often  come  to  town?" 

"Not  very  often." 

"So  I  never  see  you." 

She  made  no  response  to  this,  knowing  she  could  not 
invite  him  to  her  home  on  account  of  her  father's  preju 
dice.  She  had  formerly  taken  pleasure  in  their  acci 
dental  meetings  at  Jane  Hamilton's  "steps";  now  Har- 

129 


130  HECLA   SANDWITH 

mony  avoided  her  cousin's  house  for  the  very  reason  of 
these  encounters.  They  appeared  to  her  wrong  since  her 
sister  Hecla's  harsh  reproof.  Moreover,  Harmony  had 
been  passing  through  spiritual  crises  that  kept  her  in 
her  room  apart  even  from  her  family.  Mr.  Donovan 
glanced  at  the  sweet  pale  face  framed  in  the  chip  bon 
net  with  the  wreath  of  pink  rosebuds  she  wore  reluct 
antly  to  please  Hecla.  He  noted  her  troubled  expression 
and  the  brown  eyes  shadowy  from  sleepless  nights  of 
prayer. 

"I  hope,"  he  said  earnestly,  "that  a  difference  of  re 
ligion  is  not  going  to  interfere  with  our  friendship?" 

They  had  reached  her  Uncle  Pentecost's  doorstep,  and 
he  held  out  his  hand. 

"It  can  make  no  difference,"  she  murmured. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  slowly  from  his  lingering 
warm  clasp.  As  she  entered  the  house  her  conscience 
rebuked  her :  she  knew  she  was  glad  she  had  on  her  new 
bonnet,  and  she  was  sorry  she  had  not  withdrawn  her 
hand  more  quickly. 

Harmony  mounted  the  stairs  in  search  of  her  aunt. 
Friend  Deborah  Sandwith  was  laying  out  her  fragrant 
household  linen  in  the  long  mahogany  high-boy  in  the 
upper  hall.  She  took  the  bunch  of  tea-roses  her  niece 
had  brought  her  with  the  reminiscent  smile  which 
freshly  touched  Harmony  to-day.  Harmony  guessed 
that  her  Aunt  Deborah  had  some  youthful  romance  in 
which  this  variety  of  rose  had  played  a  part,  since  she 
wore  one  hidden  in  her  bosom  whenever  the  roses  could 
be  had. 

The  Quakeress  had  late  in  life  married  Pentecost 
Sandwith,  leaving  her  Philadelphia  home  for  the  un- 


PATHS    SET   IN   DARKNESS  131 

congenial  life  of  Dunkirk.  For  some  years  she  had  been 
"an  approved  minister,"  and  it  was  partly  through  her 
influence  her  husband  had  also  come  to  take  his  seat 
on  the  upper  bench  of  the  gallery  in  the  old  Sandwith 
Meeting  House.  After  Pentecost  became  a  preacher  he 
had,  through  increase  of  "conscientious  scruples/'  given 
up  the  law  in  which  he  had  won  the  name  of  "Honest 
Pentecost."  Many  changes  had  since  then  been  insti 
tuted  in  the  household.  The  gilt  mirrors  over  the  fire 
place  had  been  substituted  by  cheap  walnut  ones.  In 
stead  of  carrying  a  gold  repeater  Pentecost  contented 
himself  with  a  plain  silver  watch.  In  Harmony's  opin 
ion  there  was  no  more  ideal  pair  of  Christian  livers  than 
her  uncle  and  aunt;  and  it  was  with  this  feeling  she 
had  sought  Friend  Deborah  that  afternoon  for  religious 
counsel. 

Yet  when  the  linen  was  laid  away,  and  they  were  seat 
ed  together,  she  found  it  difficult  to  speak.  Harmony 
had  almost  a  morbid  reserve  in  matters  touching  her 
spiritual  life.  She  looked  hesitatingly  at  her  aunt — a 
round  matronly  figure  of  calm  Christian  content.  The 
girl's  serious  large  eyes  were  marked  with  her  mood. 
She  had  taken  off  her  bonnet,  and  with  it  had  departed 
a  certain  freshness  of  youth.  Her  hands,  delicate  and 
tapering,  were  clasped  tightly  in  her  lap. 

"I  am  under  such  deep  discouragement,"  she  said  at 
length. 

Her  aunt,  who  had  been  placidly  plying  her  needles, 
laid  down  her  knitting.  "Open  thy  concern  to  me,  dear 
child,"  she  responded  in  her  kind,  even  voice. 

"I  have  been  passing  through  so  many  exercises  since 
Benjamin  Truelove  visited  our  Meeting.  It  seemed  the 


132  HECLA    S'ANDWITH 

Lord  directed  him  that  First  day  to  speak  directly  to 
my  state.  I  fear,  though,  I  am  too  great  a  sinner :  God 
will  not  accept  me  as  His  child." 

"Has  thee  truly  given  thyself  to  Him,  Harmony?" 

"I  have  tried  to  do  so,  aunt." 

The  Quakeress  was  not  so  confident  of  Harmony's 
perseverance  as  a  Christian  traveler.  "Perhaps  thee  has 
not  prayed  enough,"  she  suggested. 

"I  have  prayed,  but  it  is  all  so  dark." 

Harmony  did  not  tell  her  aunt  of  the  long  hours  on 
her  knees  in  which  she  had  prayed  with  the  passion  of  a 
medieval  penitent.  There  was  something  about  Deb 
orah's  comfortable  holiness  that  checked  the  shy  out 
pouring  of  her  trouble.  Instinct  told  her  that  her  aunt 
would  never  understand  her. 

"Thee  is  in  a  lowness  that  comes  to  all  seekers  after 
righteousness,"  was  the  reply.  "Thee  must  try,  Har 
mony,  to  cultivate  a  firmer  trust  in  the  Lord.  It  is 
wrong  and  weak  of  thee  to  despair.  There  is  no  danger 
that  He  will  not  recognize  thee  as  His  child  unless  it  is 
thy  own  wilful  choice." 

Harmony  then  told  her  aunt  of  a  dream  she  had  had 
the  night  before.  She  thought  she  was  in  a  strange  place 
and  a  figure  of  pleasant  and  superior  appearance  had 
given  her  a  stone  pitcher.  He  led  her  to  a  river  and  bade 
her  follow  the  example  of  others  and  fill  her  pitcher 
with  water.  She  did  so,  but  each  time  she  withdrew  it 
the  water  bubbled  over  the  top  until  the  pitcher  was 
empty.  She  continued  to  refill  it  until  her  arms  ached 
and  always  with  the  same  result. 

Her  aunt  sat  silent,  considering  the  meaning  of  the 
dream.  Like  most  old-time  Friends,  she  had  faith  in 


PATHS    SET    IN   DAKKNESS  133 

the  teaching  of  the  Spirit  by  night  visions.  The  dream 
seemed  to  indicate  that  her  niece  was  a  vessel  unworthy 
as  yet  to  hold  the  boon  of  grace.  But  she  had  no  wish 
to  break  the  bruised  reed  or  quench  smoking  flax. 

"Thee  may  be  wrong,  dear  child,"  she  said,  "in  at 
taching  importance  to  the  vision.  Dreams  are  not  al 
ways  intended  for  our  guidance." 

Harmony,  however,  divined  her  aunt's  concealed 
thought:  her  face  took  on  an  expression  of  melancholy, 
and  she  thought  it  useless  to  talk  more  on  the  subject. 
She  fell  back  on  her  own  strength  to  bear  her  problem. 

After  a  few  moments  her  aunt  remarked:  "I  have 
heard  from  Benjamin  Truelove  since  his  going  and  he 
wishes  his  dear  remembrance  to  be  given  the  unknown 
writer  of  the  letter  with  the  earnest  hope  she  may  in 
crease  in  heavenly  favor."  As  she  read  the  words  her 
eyes  dwelt  musingly  on  her  niece. 

"Tell  me,  Harmony,"  she  asked,  "is  thee  still  heart- 
whole?" 

"Yes,  aunt,  I  think  so,"  was  the  faltering  answer. 

Deborah  laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's  arm.  "Thee 
should  confide  in  thy  aunt,"  she  said,  "since  thee  has 
no  mother." 

Friend  Deborah's  mind  was  full  of  Benjamin  True- 
love.  Her  barren  motherhood  went  out  to  the  young 
evangelist.  She  had  desired  a  union  between  him  and 
Hetty,  but  this  she  feared  would  come  to  naught.  Hetty 
had  told  her,  the  day  after  the  tea-party  at  Burnham, 
she  had  no  wish  to  marry  the  young  Quaker  seer.  Now 
Deborah  considered  Harmony,  thinking  it  might  be  that 
a  concealed  fancy  for  Benjamin  Truelove  was  leading 
her  to  more  serious  spiritual  aspirations.  If  this  were  so, 


134  HECLA    SANDWITH 

and  Harmony  became  a  Friend,  would  she  make  a  wife 
truly  fit  for  the  one  she  so  fondly  loved  ? 

She  would  have  said  more,  when  both  were  startled 
by  the  sound  of  music  awakening  for  the  first  time  its 
echoes  in  the  house.  The  words  died  on  the  elder 
woman's  lips  and  the  two  remained  mute  in  wonder. 

After  a  few  uncertain  bars  there  floated  to  their  ears 
an  old  Scotch  air  tenderly  but  faultily  played.  Har 
mony  saw  her  aunt's  face  tremble,  whether  because  of 
stirring  memories  or  the  searching  pathos  of  the 
strain,  she  could  only  guess.  Then  some  heart-break  of 
her  own  brought  tears  to  her  eyes.  Deborah  rose,  and 
drawing  Harmony  with  her,  descended  the  stairs  and 
paused  at  the  threshold  of  the  sitting-room. 

Pentecost  S'andwith  was  not  conscious  of  their  pres 
ence.  He  sat  on  a  chair  with  a  violin  pressed  against 
his  aged  cheek,  his  eyes  closed  and  a  faint  smile  upon 
his  lips.  He  had  been  cleaning  out  the  contents  of  a 
chimney  closet,  which  contained  the  rubbish  of  years 
on  its  high  shelves,  and  among  this  he  had  found  the 
violin  he  had  played  in  his  youth  before  the  stern  con 
victions  of  Quakerism  caused  him  to  lay  it  aside.  Evi 
dently  he  had  debated  over  the  disposal  of  this  token  of 
former  folly  so  long  forgotten;  had  perhaps  merely 
touched  it  to  see  if  the  strings  retained  some  of  their 
fine  tone  after  years  of  neglect,  and  so  unconsciously 
had  fallen  to  playing  one  of  his  chosen  Scotch  tunes. 
The  June  day  streamed  through  the  slats  of  the  green 
Venetian  shade  in  filtered  dust  of  gold,  and  the  light 
gave  reverence  to  the  grave  rugged  face,  with  its  loose 
folds  of  skin  like  a  mastiff's  muzzle. 

Deborah  Sandwith,  standing  at  the  threshold  of  the 


PATHS    SET    IN   DAKKNESS  135 

room,,  had  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  husband's  smiling  lips, 
— flash  of  a  transient  springtime  returned,  rapt  illu 
mination  of  a  heart  that  through  all  suppression  of  re 
ligious  faith  still  confessed  allegiance  to  melody.  Often 
had  the  same  expression  shone  on  pure  faces  of  male 
and  female  preachers  in  Meeting  as  they  uttered  rhapso 
dies  in  rhythmic  voices,  testifying  to  an  unacknow 
ledged  truth  that  those  banded  together  to  oppose  the 
vanity  of  the  World  were  after  all  musicians  in  spirit, 
who,  moved  to  words  of  mystic  exaltation,  fell  naturally 
into  chanting  phrases  that  came  down  to  them  through 
the  ages  from  David  praising  the  Lord  with  harp  and 
timbrel. 

An  irrepressible  exclamation  broke  from  Deborah 
Sandwith.  At  the  sound  the  musician's  eyes  opened,  and 
in  the  bewildered  awakening  the  bow  dropped  from  his 
hand.  He  picked  this  up,  and  laying  it  beside  the  vio 
lin,  closed  the  case;  then  he  sat  with  his  head,  white- 
haired  and  nobly  large,  bowed  for  a  space.  And  in  re 
spect  for  this  humility  before  the  Lord  the  two  women 
neither  moved  nor  spoke.  Into  their  minds,  however, 
came  thought  of  the  long  estrangement  between  Pente 
cost  and  his  brother  Joshua  because  of  the  spinet  in  the 
parlors  at  Burnham. 

Presently  the  old  preacher  rose,  and  going  to  the 
window,  raised  the  shade.  Over  the  neighboring  roofs 
of  Dunkirk  the  air  was  golden  with  the  haze  of  the  late 
afternoon.  Pentecost  Sandwith  gazed  a  while,  then  his 
lips  muttered  the  words:  "Let  not  the  sun  go  down — 

He  took  his  beaver  from  the  rack  in  the  hall  and  the 
two,  remaining  where  they  were,  still  silent,  knew  he  was 
on  his  reconciling  way  to  Joshua  Sandwith's  home. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A   PLAIN   MAN   IN   HIS   PLAIN   MEANING 

While  Pentecost  Sandwith,  intent  upon  a  reconcilia 
tion  with  his  brother  after  years  of  estrangement.,  was 
on  his  way  to  Burnham,  Hecla  sat  in  the  parlors  play 
ing  on  the  little  rosewood  spinet  which  had  caused  their 
quarrel.  Hecla  was  not  a  musician,  but  she  possessed 
a  pretty  uncultivated  voice,  which  had  often  been 
praised  by  her  Dunkirk  admirers  and  especially  by 
Wentworth,  with  whom  formerly  she  had  sung  duets. 
Her  father  had  indulged  her  in  her  taste  for  music  de 
spite  the  objection  of  his  family,  for  he  was  not  with 
out  an  ear  for  simple  melodies  and  liked  to  doze  of  an 
evening  over  his  newspaper  to  such  songs  as  Floiv 
Gently,  Sweet  Afton,  and  The  Irish  Emigrant's  Lament. 

Since  her  return  from  Lititz  Hecla  had  neglected  her 
playing  and  singing,  partly  because  Wentworth  no 
longer  came  to  the  house ;  and  to-day  she  had  restlessly 
seated  herself  at  the  keyboard,  less  out  of  a  desire  for 
music  than  to  occupy  her  mind.  She  had  thought  of 
her  cousin  until,  as  it  seemed  to  the  wretched  girl,  her 
heart  and  brain  ached.  Much  of  her  usual  self-control 
had  fled ;  she  felt  herself  a  creature  of  shift  and  change 
and  no  more  the  saddened,  resolute  daughter  of  her 
father,  who  had  vowed  she  would  crush  out  this  thought 

136 


A   PLAIN    MAN  137 

of  love  at  no  matter  what  cost,  since  it  was  against  her 
own  and  Wentworth's  conscience.  Eeaction  had  come  to 
her.  She  wished  to  see  her  cousin  again,  justifying  the 
wish  according  to  the  mood.  Sometimes  she  held  she 
owed  it  to  him  to  reason  with  him  over  his  passion; 
sometimes  that  she  owed  it  to  herself  to  show  him  by 
another  meeting  that  her  affection  was  only  that  of 
kinship. 

Her  musings,  which  interwove  themselves  with  her 
music,  were  at  length  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  the 
front-door  knocker  and  footsteps  in  the  hall.  When 
Richard  Hallett  entered  the  parlors  Hecla  was  still  at 
the  spinet,  agitated,  thinking  it  was  Wentworth,  and  not 
able  quite  to  conceal  her  disappointment  at  the  sight 
of  the  visitor. 

"Don't  stop,"  he  entreated  as  she  started  to  rise; 
"I  have  never  heard  you  play."  His  face,  colored  with 
healthy  ardor,  proclaimed  the  pleasure  he  felt  at  dis 
covering  her  to  be  alone. 

Hccla  had  no  desire  to  display  her  small  talent  as  a 
musician ;  and  she  felt  vexed  that,  seated  where  he  faced 
her  directly,  he  could  study  her  at  will.  While  she 
faltered  without  expression  through  a  melody  hastily 
selected  at  random,  the  Englishman  continued  to  gaze 
at  the  picture  she  made.  He  thought  what  a  graceful 
figure  it  was  in  the  cool  white  muslin  dress,  which  so 
contrasted  with  the  rich  hair  glowing  in  the  refreshing 
dusk  of  the  parlors.  On  the  delicate  face  bent  over  the 
thin  ivory  keys  the  mental  suffering  of  the  past  days 
had  left  its  mark,  producing  a  new  fine  seriousness  and 
giving  it  a  more  striking  look  of  ideality. 

"I  have  come  to  say  good-by,"  he  told  her,  when  she 


138  HECLA    SANDWITH 

had  finished  playing.  "To-morrow  I  go  to  live  at  Snow 
Shoe,  where  I  shall  begin  prospecting  in  earnest.  I 
have  decided  to  remain  in  this  country  and  invest  what 
capital  I  have  in  coal  mines  here.  The  wisdom  of  this 
shall  be  proved  in  time.  I  am  confident  I  shall  restore 
local  belief  in  Snow  Shoe  and  its  mineral  wealth." 

"I  am  sure  you  will  succeed  in  whatever  you  under 
take,  Mr.  Hallett,"  Hecla  answered  without  looking  at 
him.  She  had  meant  it  as  courtesy,  but  her  voice  be 
trayed  how  sincere  was  her  belief  in  his  capacity. 

"Your  confidence  means  a  great  deal  to  me,"  he  re 
turned.  Then  he  added :  "But  I  have  not  come  to  speak 
of  my  business  ventures." 

Hecla  had  already  divined  why  he  had  come.  Vanity 
she  had  in  a  measure,  but  after  all  it  was  superficial, 
easily  merged  in  nobler  moods.  She  dreaded  the  pro 
posal  she  felt  he  was  about  to  make,  out  of  considera 
tion  for  him  as  well  as  because  she  knew  herself  unequal, 
in  her  tired  strained  state  of  mind,  to  the  effort  it  im 
posed  upon  her.  Eichard  Hallett,  she  felt,  was  no  faint 
hearted  suitor  easily  or  lightly  to  be  dismissed;  not  one 
to  be  diverted  from  his  purpose  by  small  feminine  sub 
terfuges.  ISTevertheless  she  said  to  him:  "Perhaps  you 
would  like  to  walk  in  the  garden,  Mr.  Hallett;  I  am 
quite  proud  of  my  roses  this  year."  Hecla  thought  if 
there  was  not  escape  in  this  suggestion,  it  would  at  least 
be  less  painful  to  listen  to  his  words  in  the  larger 
privacy  of  the  garden. 

He  made  no  move,  however,  and  Hecla,  who  had  left 
the  spinet,  after  a  moment  of  hesitation  reseated  herself 
at  some  distance  from  him. 

Hallett  quietly  drew  his  chair  near  hers. 


A   PLAIN   MAN  139 

"The  first  time  I  saw  you  I  felt  I  should  want  to 
make  you  my  wife." 

The  abruptness  of  this  speech  disconcerted  Hecla. 
She  had  no  answer  to  make.  He  continued  deliberately 
— with  a  deliberation  that  impressed  her  more  than  im 
passioned  entreaty  would  have  done : 

"When  I  was  young  I  had  to  devote  myself  to  work. 
I  have  known  few  women  and  loved  none  until  I  met 
you.  My  life  needs  only  one  thing  to  make  it  complete, 
and  that  is  you." 

He  was  silent  after  this  short  speech ;  but  his  air  was 
that  of  one  ready  to  say  more  when  occasion  demanded. 
Eichard  Hallett  was  a  man  to  whom  words  were  unim 
portant  in  sacred  moments  of  life.  Hecla  vaguely  un 
derstood  this  and  she  was  affected  by  it.  She  realized 
as  he  sat  gravely  awaiting  her  reply  that  the  young 
Englishman,  in  asking  her  to  marry  him,  paid  her  a 
tribute  indeed;  that  the  love  he  offered  was  founded 
on  deep  reverences  and  high  ideals.  Something  within 
her  rose  to  meet  the  requirement  of  the  occasion.  Her 
dominant  feeling  was  a  wish  to  preserve  his  flattering 
image  of  herself  in  the  manner  of  her  refusing. 

"Any  woman  might  value  such  an  offer,"  she  said 
sincerely,  looking  at  him  directly  now  for  the  first 
time,  "and  I  should  be  unworthy  of  it  if  I  did  not.  I 
am  sorry,  though,  you  have  spoken,  because  there  is 
only  one  answer  I  can  make:  I  do  not  intend  to 
marry." 

She  saw  that  Eichard  Hallett's  face  showed  no  sign 
of  disappointment.  He  waited  calmly  for  her  to  finish, 
and  in  the  awkwardness  of  the  silence  she  added  ner 
vously  :  "I  have  a  duty  toward  my  father." 


140  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

"I  was  not  wholly  unprepared  for  your  answer,"  he 
replied.  "I  do  not  wish  to  press  you  to  think  of  me 
in  this  new  light  as  yet.  I  shall  wait." 

"Time  can  make  no  difference;  my  answer  will  al 
ways  be  the  same." 

He  smiled.  "I  have  never  failed  in  any  aim.  It  is  a 
great  aim  to  make  you  my  wife.  Nothing  shall  turn 
me  from  that  hope.  You  will  learn  to  love  me." 

"I  shall  never  feel  differently  toward  you,"  she  an 
swered  with  a  touch  of  pride.  "I  regret  to  pain  you; 
but  you  are  paining  me." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke. 

"I  realize,"  he  said,  as  they  faced  each  other,  "that 
I  use  words  you  may  resent.  But  I  only  express  the 
conviction  of  my  love." 

"I  do  resent  your  words,"  she  answered  with 
growing  spirit.  "I  can  not  permit  you  to  speak  as  if  I 
were  a  coquette  or  not  sure  of  my  own  mind.  I  have 
told  you,  Mr.  Hallett,  I  never  intend  to  marry  and  I 
beg  of  you  to  believe  that  I  mean  it." 

"But  you  are  a  woman  and  every  woman  should 
marry." 

"I  do  not  think  so,"  she  retorted  quickly.  "I  have 
taken  pleasure  in  your  visits,  but  you  must  promise 
not  to  mention  this  subject  to  me  again." 

A  sheet  of  music  had  slipped  from  the  rack  to  the 
floor  and  she  moved  over  and  picked  it  up.  Hallett 
stood  gravely  smiling,  with  an  expression  on  his  face 
which  seemed  to  indicate  tolerant  patience  of  her  wom 
an's  defiance.  She  saw  this  as  she  paused,  one  arm  rest 
ing  on  the  spinet.  The  pupils  of  her  gray  violet-ringed 
eyes  had  grown  large  in  the  curious  fashion  character- 


A    PLAIN    MAN  141 

izing  her  disturbed  moods.  His  self-assurance  angered 
her  and  her  attitude  was  unconsciously  that  of  defense. 
The  power  his  presence  exercised  over  her  oppressed 
and  alarmed  her.  Some  instinct  told  her  she  had  to 
combat  something  more  subtle  than  his  determination 
to  win  her.  What  Hecla  drew  from  him  by  fateful 
accident  was,  perhaps,  the  instinct  of  blind  selection 
that  nothing  would  abate.  She  revolted  against  this 
unreasoning  love  of  his — love  the  depths  of  which  Eich- 
ard  Hallett  probably  had  never  stopped  to  gage  in  the 
absorption  of  his  busy  untempted  life.  It  was  Hecla's 
senses,  active  through  fear,  disturbed  already  by  her 
feeling  for  her  cousin,  that  guessed  the  truth — that  the 
Englishman's  slow-speeched  declaration,  the  almost 
passionless  dignity  of  his  manner,  belied  him,  and  that 
be  was  only  awakening  to  what  passion  really  was,  its 
unrest,  hunger,  relentlessness.  Obstacles  would  only 
increase  the  zeal  with  which  he  would  pursue  her. 
While  something  of  this  came  to  Hecla  as  a  confused 
subconscious  impression,  Hallett  went  over  to  her  and 
took  her  unwilling  hand. 

"You  must  not  ask  me  to  promise  what  would  seal 
my  lips,"  he  said.  "Let  it  be  friendship  only  on  your 
side  for  the  present.  Believe  me,  I  shall  not  urge  you 
against  your  will.  I  promise  that,  since  you  ask  it. 
But  let  me  retain  my  hopes,  despite  your  refusal;  that 
can  not  injure  you.  I  am  young,  and,"  he  added  as  he 
pressed  her  hand  in  farewell,  "youth  is  sanguine." 

"It  is  unfortunate  you  feel  so,"  she  murmured. 

He  still  retained  her  hand. 

"There  is  one  thing  I  should  like  to  ask  you." 

She  looked  at  him  uneasily. 


142  HECLA    S'ANDWITH 

"Have  you  promised  to  marry  any  one  else  ?" 

"You  have  no  right  to  ask  me  that,"  she  said,  drawing 
back  from  him. 

"I  have  not  the  right,  I  admit,"  he  answered  in  a 
quiet,  altered  voice,  as  he  released  her  hand.  "But  you 
have  answered  me." 

"Xo,"  she  cried,  "that  is  not  true.  I  do  not  love  any 
one!" 

After  he  had  left  her  she  sat  down  at  the  spinet, 
burying  her  face  in  her  hands  and  burning  over  the 
vehemence  of  her  denial. 

For  some  minutes  Hecla  sat  there.  She  heard  Hallett 
leave  the  house  and  his  step  on  the  gravel  seemed  to  her 
to  be  as  firm  and  confident  as  when  he  had  entered  the 
parlors.  Eeluctantly  she  admired  the  strength  and  de 
termination  of  this  man,  and  it  was  almost  with  terror 
she  recognized  the  influence  his  character  gained  over 
her  each  time  he  saw  her.  She  was  accustomed  to  vio 
lent  temperaments:  her  father's  vehemence,  the  sullen 
rages  of  Dave,  the  passionate  impetuosity  of  Wentworth 
on  occasions;  but  the  collected  power  and  resolution  of 
the  Englishman  was  new  to  her  and  appealed  to  some 
thing  akin  in  her  own  nature,  rebel  as  she  might  against 
the  domination. 

Presently  steps  again  sounded  on  the  porch  and 
Hecla,  in  fear  that  it  was  her  lover  returned,  started 
to  escape  from  the  parlors.  The  front  door  opened  as 
she  reached  the  hall  and  she  saw  that  it  was  Pentecost 
Sandwith.  "Uncle  Pentecost!"  she  exclaimed.  Then 
with  a  feeling  that  something  serious  must  have  hap 
pened  to  bring  him  to  Burnham:  "Is  Aunt  Deborah 
ill?" 


A    PLAIN    MAN  143 

"No,  child,"  was  the  old  Quaker's  answer;  "thy  aunt 
is  well.  Tell  me  where  thy  father  is." 

"On  the  side  porch,  I  think." 

He  departed  thither,  and  Hecla  looked  after  him 
doubtfully.  What  did  it  mean,  this  visit,  after  he  had 
refused  for  years  to  enter  her  father's  house?  Was 
he  the  bearer  of  ill  tidings?  She  thought  immediately 
of  Dave  with  a  sense  of  uneasiness.  After  all,  she  could 
not  quite  shake  off  the  depression  caused  by  Benjamin 
Truelove's  prophecy.  She  followed  him  to  the  side 
porch,  and  it  was  with  relief  she  saw  the  two  old  men 
seated  quietly  side  by  side.  Pentecost's  hand  rested 
affectionately  on  her  father's  arm;  and  as  she  turned 
she  heard  the  words : 

"Joshua,  let  it  not  be  said  of  us  that  a  brother  of 
fended  is  harder  to  be  won  than  a  strong  city:  and  their 
contentions  are  like  the  bars  of  a  castle." 

Joshua  did  not  repulse  the  conciliating  hand,  but  he 
answered  in  his  quick  lisping  tones : 

"The  fault  was  thine,  Pentecost.  Was  my  door  ever 
shut  against  thee  ?  It  was  thee  who  refused  to  cross  my 
threshold!" 

"It  is  true,  Joshua,"  the  other  answered  humbly.  "I 
have  been  like  him  who  would  take  his  gift  to  the  altar 
not  remembering  his  brother  has  aught  against  him." 

"Often  it  had  been  well  if  thee  had  kept  thy  gift 
for  Meeting,"  the  iron-master  retorted,  for  he  was  not 
yet  mollified.  "Thee  was  ever  fond  of  having  thy  say, 
especially  in  the  bringing  up  of  other  men's  children. 
There's  none  wiser  in  such  matters  than  he  who  has  no 
offspring  of  his  own." 

"It  may  be  the  Lord  denied  me  children,  that  I 


144  HECLA    SANDWITH 

might  love  thine  the  more,"  was  the  gentle  reply.  "I 
have  always  meant  well  by  thy  family.  Brother,"  he 
continued,  "I  have  been  greatly  concerned  over  what 
my  wife  Deborah  told  me  of  Benjamin  and  his  mes 
sage,  and  I  have  daily  prayed  since  then  that  the  chas 
tening  Hand  may  not  fall  too  heavily  on  thy  house.'' 
He  made  a  discreet  pause,  then  added :  "How  is  it  with 
thy  stepson,  David  ?  I  trust  he  does  well  at  the  Works." 

"He  has  never  asked  my  advice,  so  I  put  him  no 
questions,"  the  iron-master  answered.  "I  have  leased 
the  furnace  to  him  for  a  year,  and  it  is  his  for  that  time 
to  run  as  he  likes.  From  little  meddling  cometh  much 
ease,  Pentecost !  I  grant  thee,  the  boy  has  his  faults,  but 
I  have  taught  him  to  speak  truth  and  deal  honestly  with 
all  men.  As  for  the  ill  that  Friend  Truelove  predicts 
will  befall  my  roof,  if  it  comes  then  come  it  must !  Yet 
I  have  not  deserved  affliction  of  the  Lord."  He  spoke 
with  a  quick  petulance  that  masked  emotion.  "Well,"  he 
added  as  the  other  rose,  "I  am  glad  thee  came,  Pente 
cost.  I  have  no  wish  to  die  at  odds  with  thee." 

After  his  brother's  departure  he  stood  gazing  on  the 
broad  fertile  acres  of  Burnham.  The  sun  was  dropping 
behind  the  blue  wall  of  distant  mountains  and  its  rays 
flooded  the  grounds  with  a  ruddy  glory.  Joshua  was 
proud  of  his  home,  with  its  stately  walnuts,  its  flowers 
and  velvet  turf,  its  walks  and  arbors,  and  the  spreading 
green  meadow  where  wound  the  brook  on  its  leisurely 
way  to  Dunkirk.  The  scene  was  a  witness  of  comfort 
and  affluence  acquired  through  an  industrious  life,  and 
his  eyes  rested  on  it  with  affection.  Were  his  children 
not  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  his  labor  ? 

The  sun  disappeared ;  a  mist  rose  from  the  stream  and 


A    PLAIN    MAN  145 

spread  its  fleece  over  the  garden;  the  chill  seemed  to 
reach  his  breast. 

"What  makes  thee  sigh,  father?"  Hecla  questioned, 
stealing  to  his  side.  "Isn't  thee  glad  Uncle  Pentecost  has 
made  peace  with  thee  at  last  ?" 

"Hecla/'  he  said  abruptly,  "has  Eichard  Hallett  asked 
thee  to  be  his  wife  ?" 

"Yes,  father,  he  spoke  to-day  and  I  told  him  I  would 
never  leave  thee." 

"I  am  an  old  man  and  soon  must  leave  thee,  daughter. 
I  should  like  to  see  thee  wed  to  Richard  Hallett.  He 
will  protect  thee  against  misfortune  when  I  am  gone. 
Why  did  thee  refuse  him?" 

"Because  I  don't  love  him,  father."  Then  putting 
her  arm  around  his  neck:  "Thee's  still  thinking  of 
Benjamin  Truelove's  words,  I  know  thee  is !  No  misfor 
tune  is  coming,  unless  thee  invites  it  by  thy  fears.  I 
know  thee  is  troubled  about  Dave.  But  what  has  Dave 
done  to  make  thee  worry  so  ?  I  suspect  Uncle  Pentecost 
has  been  speaking  of  him.  They  all  treat  him  as  if  he 
were  a  criminal,  and  it  isn't  fair.  Surely  thee  hasn't 
lost  faith  in  Dave  without  his  doing  anything  to  deserve 
it!" 

"My  concern's  for  thee,  daughter.  Dave  is  a  man  and 
can  meet  whatever  troubles  befall  him.  Why  didn't  thee 
accept  Eichard  Hallett?  I  have  great  confidence  in 
him." 

"I've  told  thee,  father ;  because  I  don't  love  him." 

Mr.  S'andwith  sighed  again. 

"I  trust  thee  hasn't  encouraged  him  then  or  permitted 
liberties;  and  remember,  never  give  thy  promise  unless 
thee  means  to  keep  it.  That  is  the  honor  of  the  Sand- 


146  HECLA    SANDWITH 

withs.  Well,  if  thee  does  not  love  Richard  Hallett  thee 
did  well  to  refuse  him.  Thee  knows  what  William  Penn 
says :  Never  marry  but  for  love  and  see  that  thou  lovest 
what  is  lovely.  Come,  let  us  go  indoors.  It  grows  chill." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HOT  BLOOD  AND  A  COLD  DECREE 

It  was  a  late  July  afternoon  at  the  Forge  store.  Cus 
tom  had  slackened  and  the  tired  clerks  were  wiping  per 
spiring  red  faces  behind  a  triangular  counter  piled  with 
pound  and  half-pound  packages  ready  for  buyers.  From 
time  to  time  charges  were  called  out  to  Bayletts,  the 
book-keeper,  whose  quill  scratched  his  journal  at  the 
standing-desk  near  a  rear  window,  through  which  came 
the  droning  sounds  of  the  rolling-mill.  The  journal, 
like  Bayletts,  had  its  peculiarities.  On  the  margin  of 
the  pages  the  writer  recorded  in  his  fine  crabbed  hand 
the  state  of  the  weather  and  of  his  feelings,  the  drunk 
enness  and  bad  language  of  workmen,  interspersing 
with  these  and  other  items  scraps  of  verse  from  Collins 
and  Gray. 

The  usual  group  of  pay-day  loafers  sat  around  the 
empty  goblet-shaped  stove,  on  which  they  expectorated 
at  intervals.  Above  the  general  noises  could  be  heard 
the  brassy  buzz  of  blue  flies. 

The  object  of  their  attention  was  a  terrier  which 
Dave  Sandwith  had  got  from  a  dog  fancier  in  Dunkirk 
to  exterminate  the  rats  in  the  store  cellar.  The  sum 
paid  for  the  animal  caused  old  Solomon  Stitch  to  shake 
his  head. 

147 


148  HECLA    S'ANDWITH 

"The  price  of  a  dawg  an'  the  wages  of  a  dotter  a  sin 
is  an  abomination  in  the  sight  a  the  Lord,"  he  asserted. 
"The  young  man  '11  bring  his  pap's  gray  hairs  in  sorrow 
to  the  grave." 

"01'  Trouble  hain't  got  no  gray  hairs,  but  mebbc 
Dave  '11  whiten  one  of  them  scratches  a  hizn,"  Archy 
McSwords  answered  ironically,  surreptitiously  thrust 
ing  his  hand  into  the  "grab  barrel"  of  rank  half-Span 
ish  cigars.  "The  pup  '11  pay  fer  hisself  in  bacon  saved." 

"Thez  more  wastage  goen'  on  then  bacon,  Ah  jedge," 
said  Mog  Pickle.  "Ye  mind  wot  Ah  said  ez  how  they'd 
be  wuss  trouble  than  01'  Trouble  ere  all's  said  an'  did." 

Old  Ely,  an  ex-collier,  rubbed  his  nose  with  huge 
knuckles.  "How  about  them  kimical  ovens  Ah  heerd  the 
boss  was  a-goen'  to  build  ?"  he  asked  huskily. 

"He  up  an'  built  'em,"  Solomon  gloomily  affirmed; 
'Tie  up  an'  built  'em." 

"An' how's  the  coal?" 

"'Tain't  no  good  like  the  ol'  fuel,  Ah  holds/'  the 
keeper  returned. 

"Ah  knowed  it,  Ah  knowed  it,"  Old  Ely  cried  tri 
umphantly.  "They  ain't  no  way  a-maken'  coal  like  the 
cl'  way."  His  face  and  voice  expressed  the  protest  of  a 
dying  industry.  The  slow  blue  smoke  of  the  charcoal 
hearth  seemed  to  drift  across  his  rheumy  vision;  he 
heard  again  the  rustle  of  lonely  leaves  in  the  mountain 
haunts  where  the  long-drawn  cry  of  catamounts  came  to 
him  in  his  night  watches.  "They  ain't  no  ways  good  as 
the  ol'  way.  Hain't  I  set  many  a  night  outen  the  Eidges 
with  nothen'  around  but  me  an'  the  Lord,  wot  growed 
the  leetle  saplen'  just  to  burn  ?  Hain't  I  ben  a  master- 
collier  all  me  days  an'  don't  I  know  ?  Ah  heerd  a  folks, 


HOT  BLOOD  AND  A  COLD  DECEEE   149 

'y  God,  ez  claimed  to  be  master-colliers  in  a  couple  a 
weeks  but  Ah  never  seed  'em  make  much  coal.  An'  why  ? 
'Cause  they  left  it  burn  up !  I  had  pits  in  the  woods 
wher  they  wuzn't  nawthen'  but  clay  an'  sand  fer  yer 
dust  and  folks  'lowed  Ah  cud  git  more  coal  to  a  cord  a 
wood  then  any  man  wot  ever  put  fire  in  a  pit."  He 
turned  to  Solomon  Stitch.  "You  mind  w'en  ye  made 
the  biggest  burden  ever  Hecly  made,  and  that,  'y  God, 
wuz  five  pounds  more  ner  a  half-ton." 

"It  can't  be  did,"  Archy  McSwords  scoffed.  "Ye're 
drunk,  dad." 

"Ah  ain't  tellen'  ye  no  lies,"  replied  the  old  man  in 
dignantly.  "Ah  don't  owe  you  nawthen'  and  you  don't 
owe  me  nawthen'.  Am  Ah  right,  Solomon,  er  am  Ah 
wrong  ?" 

"It's  so,"  and  Solomon  Stitch  nodded  his  head  several 
times  in  somber  affirmation. 

"Ah  'low  no  kiln  coalen'  '11  beat  that !"  finished  the 
ex-collier  elatedly. 

It  was  evident  that  neither  Dave  nor  his  new  meth 
ods  of  conducting  the  Works  had  won  the  approbation 
of  the  older  workmen.  This  was  not  so  much  personal 
dislike  of  Dave  as  their  prejudice  against  innovations 
of  any  kind  at  the  furnace.  The  feeling  was  expressed 
in  the  forebodings  of  Solomon  and  Mog.  As  for  Archy 
McSwords,  his  objection  to  the  young  iron-master  was 
principally  sentimental.  His  quarrel  the  night  of  the 
blowing-out  had  left  him  jealous  and  suspicious  of  Dave 
and  his  attentions  to  his  sweetheart,  Alpharetta  Brown. 

At  this  moment  the  young  woman  and  her  mother 
Peggy  entered  the  store,  and  conversation  among  the 
loafers  around  the  stove  ceased  as  Peggy's  voice  was 


150  HECLA   SANDWITH 

heard  in  lively  altercation  with  one  of  the  clerks.  The 
founder's  wife  had  been  refused  credit  in  the  purchase 
of  some  calico.  The  clerk  finally  referred  the  matter  to 
Bayletts. 

"Can't  have  it,"  he  snapped ;  "got  all  you  needed  last 
week." 

"Ah  didn't  neither/'  Peggy  cried  indignantly. 

"It's  charged  to  ye/'  Bayletts  answered,  unconcern 
edly  turning  over  a  page  of  the  day-book,  on  the  margin 
of  which  he  had  reported  the  unflattering  remarks 
passed  on  Dave  by  Solomon  and  the  others. 

"The  ol'  man  was  drunk  last  week,"  some  one  re 
marked.  It  was  well  known  that  the  book-keeper,  when 
he  indulged  in  his  occasional  sprees,  put  down  to  the 
workmen's  accounts  what  he  guessed  to  be  the  amount 
of  their  purchases  during  his  absence. 

"The  boss  ott  ta  give  Alpharetta  all  the  print  she 
wants,"  piped  Uncle  Billy  with  a  wink  at  Mog  Pickle. 
He  was  glad  of  a  chance  to  irritate  the  young  teamster, 
who  was  always  taunting  him  on  his  age.  Archy  was, 
however,  gazing  fondly  at  Alpharetta  and  did  not  hear. 

"Ah  dunno  about  thet,"  Joe  the  jigger-boss  com 
menced.  "Dave  is  mighty  sweet  on  Sis  Littlepage  these 
days.  'Tis  said  they'll  like  ez  not  hitch.  She's  got  a 
heap-sight  a  school  1'arnen'." 

"The  young  man's  too  fond  a  girlen'.  It's  now  one 
an'  now  t'other,"  Mog  reflected.  "Wall,  ez  Jerry  Brown 
says,  young  blood  hez  to  burn." 

Here  Peggy  gave  a  joyful  exclamation  at  the  sight 
of  Christy  Pickle,  who  came  striding  into  the  store. 
Having  listened  to  the  other's  complaint  she  fixed  a 
stern  eye  on  the  book-keeper.  "You  give  Peggy  wot  she 


HOT  BLOOD  AND  A  COLD  DECREE  151 

wants,"  she  ordered  in  her  high  tones.  "Wen  a  woman 
hez  girls  she's  got  to  clothe  'em  proper." 

"No  business  having  so  many,"  Bayletts  crustily  re 
turned. 

"Ah  hain't  lied  no  more  'n  ma  number,"  the  prolific 
mother  in  Israel  cried  at  this  reflection.  There  was  a 
standard  of  child-bearing  to  be  lived  up  to  at  The  Bank. 

"Where's  the  boss?"  Christy  demanded  fiercely. 
"He'll  do  wot  I  tells  him.  Where's  the  boss,  Ah  say  ?  I 
got  to  talk  to  him  about  doen'  some  shinglen'  on  the 
Eow.  It's  all  racked  up  with  leaks  an'  Ah  ain't  goen'  to 
have  no  summer  complaints  on  me  hands." 

"He's  at  the  mill,"  the  clerk  informed  her,  "but  Mr. 
Sandwith's  in  the  office  writing,  if  you  want  to  see  him." 

At  that  Christy  vigorously  thrust  open  the  door  into 
a  passageway  and  disappeared. 

When,  a  little  later,  Bayletts  followed  her,  he  found 
the  iron-master  apparently  taking  a  doze,  his  wig  pulled 
down  over  his  eyes.  The  office  with  its  small  barred 
windows  was  dark  and  dingy-looking.  A  curious  old- 
time  safe  with  a  huge  key  rested  on  the  floor;  there 
was  a  county  map  on  the  wall,  some  rare  specimens  of 
ore  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  in  one  corner  of  the  room 
stood  a  twelve-day  clock  with  its  works  removed,  because 
it  had  once  struck  thirteen  times.  Bayletts  looked 
meditatively  at  Mr.  Sandwith,  then  he  went  noiselessly 
to  the  clock,  opened  the  case  door  and  drew  out  a  bottle 
ornamented  with  a  picture  of  General  Jackson.  He 
measured  a  drink  with  his  thumb,  swallowed  it  at  a 
gulp  and  returned  General  Jackson  to  his  ambuscade. 
Bayletts  concealed  his  bottle  in  odd  places  like  a  cau 
tious  jackdaw,  and  further  to  insure  it  from  disturb- 


152  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

ance  flavored  the  liquor  with  asafetida.  He  stood  still 
a  moment  and  then  coughed. 

His  old  master  pushed  back  his  wig  from  his  eyes. 

"Well,  Bayletts,  how's  thee  been  sleeping?" 

"Haven't  slept.  Can't  sleep  for  the  cows,"  the  laconic 
answer  was.  Bayletts  was  afflicted  with  insomnia  and 
night  sounds  annoyed  him.  The  tinkling  of  cow-bells 
caused  him  frequently  to  jump  out  of  bed  at  Mrs. 
Littlepage's  and  pursue  the  cows  across  the  hills  with 
frightful  profanity.  Bayletts  chewed  hard  on  the  wooden 
peg  he  kept  usually  between  his  teeth  as  a  substitute 
for  tobacco.  A  glance  told  Mr.  Sandwith  the  book 
keeper's  mind  was  troubled. 

"Well,  Bayletts?" 

As  he  spoke  he  closed  his  eyes,  a  habit  he  had  when 
listening.  Mr.  Sandwith  had  been  uneasy  over  Dave 
and  the  Works  ever  since  his  talk  with  his  brother 
Pentecost.  He  had  said  then  that  he  would  ask  no 
question  of  his  stepson  regarding  his  business;  but  his 
misgivings  had  led  him  that  afternoon  to  pay  a  visit 
to  the  office,  where  he  expected  to  find  Dave.  Seated 
there  in  his  old  accustomed  seat  he  had  dozed  a  while 
until  awakened  by  the  book-keeper's  entrance.  He  knew 
Bayletts  to  be  trustworthy  in  spite  of  his  occasional 
sprees  and  devoted  to  his  interests.  If  Bayletts  had  any 
thing  important  to  communicate,  Joshua  Sandwith  did 
not  consider  it  against  his  conscience  to  listen  to  him. 

"Dave  gives  too  much  credit." 

"That's  my  son's  affair,"  Joshua  returned  impatiently. 
He  had  been  indulgent  with  the  men  in  their  accounts 
at  the  store  and  he  had  no  fault  to  find  with  Dave  for 
following  his  example. 


HOT  BLOOD  AND  A  COLD  DECKEE  153 

"Iron's  been  running  cold  short." 

Joshua  waited  with  a  sudden  compression  of  the  eye 
lids. 

"Louisville  shipment  rejected." 

"What  does  thee  say,  Bayletts  ?" 

The  iron-master's  eyes  opened  quickly  and  gripping 
the  arms  of  his  chair  he  looked  incredulous  wrath. 

Bayletts  solemnly  nodded  in  affirmation  of  his  word. 

"Thee  lies,  Bayletts !" 

"Very  well,  sir." 

"I  tell  thee,  thee  lies,"  Joshua  exclaimed  furiously. 
"My  son  said  the  Louisville  buyers  were  greatly  pleased 
with  the  pig  and  ordered  another  shipment." 

"Then  Dave  lies." 

"Thee  dares  say  my  son  has  told  me  a  falsehood !" 

His  master  had  started  from  his  chair  when  a  faint- 
ness  seized  him  and  he  sank  back  suddenly  in  his  seat; 
his  bilious  skin  changed  to  a  sickly  pallor.  Bayletts, 
stooping,  picked  up  the  iron-master's  beaver  that  had 
fallen  from  his  knee  to  the  floor.  Then  he  stood  waiting 
in  considerate  silence. 

Joshua's  lips  moved  futilely  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
asked : 

"Where  is  Dave?" 

"At  the  mill." 

"Tell  him  I  wish  to  see  him." 

Bayletts  reluctantly  left  the  room. 

Presently  Dave  appeared.  On  his  head  his  Kossuth 
hat  sat  jauntily ;  he  wore  a  flowered  silk  waistcoat,  from 
a  pocket  of  which  dangled  a  heavy  watch-chain;  his 
trousers  were  pushed  into  glossy  riding-boots. 

"What  is  it,  father?"  he  carelessly  asked,  seating 


154  HECLA   SANDWITH 

himself  on  the  table  and  tapping  his  leg  with  his  whip. 

"My  son" — the  iron-master  endeavored  to  control 
himself — "show  me  the  Louisville  letter." 

Dave's  face  expressed  embarrassed  surprise  at  the  de 
mand,  but  he  answered  readily : 

"Why,  father,  I  told  thee  what  was  in  the  letter/' 

"Show  it  to  me ;  I  desire  to  see  it !" 

"I  don't  know  where  it  is,"  was  the  sulky  reply. 

Mr.  Sandwith  faced  his  son ;  his  mouth  trembled  and 
his  nose  was  pinched  with  passion.  "Thee  has  lied  to 
me.  The  Louisville  order  was  rejected !" 

Confronted  thus,  Dave  took  refuge  in  bravado.  "Who 
told  thee  that?  So  thee  comes  out  here  and  spies  into 
my  affairs!" 

With  a  furious  exclamation  the  old  iron-master 
snatched  the  whip  from  his  stepson's  hand  and  raised 
it  as  if  to  strike.  Then,  restraining  himself,  he  snapped 
it  in  twain  and  threw  the  pieces  from  him.  "Go,"  he 
commanded  in  a  terrible  voice,  "before  I  chastise  thee 
as  thee  deserves.  Thee  has  disgraced  the  honest  name 
thee  bears !  Go,  that  I  may  not  curse  the  day  I  took 
thee  into  my  house  and  called  thee  son !" 

Dave  flung  himself  out  of  the  office,  and  Mr.  Sand 
with  sat  down  in  his  chair,  weak  from  his  access  of 
rage.  The  revelation  of  Dave's  business  incapacity  only 
confirmed  his  own  misgivings.  The  rejection  of  the 
important  Louisville  order  was  due  to  carelessness. 
Never  in  his  own  day  had  his  famous  "Juniata  Iron" 
been  refused,  because  it  was  always  tested  before  ship 
ping.  But  it  was  not  the  discovery  of  Dave's  negligence 
that  shocked  his  stepfather;  it  was  the  fact  that  Dave 
had  told  him  a  deliberate  falsehood.  It  was  this  that 


HOT  BLOOD  AND  A  COLD  DECREE  155 

angered  him,  that  was  unforgivable.  The  absolute  hon 
esty  and  scrupulous  love  of  truth  that  formed  the  es 
sence  of  Joshua  Sandwith's  character  could  make  no 
allowance  for  Dave's  pride,  which  had  inspired  the  lie. 
Dave  was  a  liar,  and  at  a  blow  Mr.  Sandwith's  faith  in 
him  was  destroyed. 

As  he  meditated  there  in  the  silent  office  the  old  man 
tasted  the  bitterness  of  defeated  life-hopes.  He  thought 
of  his  weakling  child  Jervis,  only  male  heir  of  his  flesh. 
He  had  yearned  for  a  son  to  whom  he  might  look  to 
hand  on  his  unstained  reputation  as  an  iron-master,  and 
for  that  reason  he  had  adopted  Dave,  tried  to  teach  him 
his  ideas  of  duty  and  conduct,  trained  him  in  business 
and  finally  allowed  him  to  step  into  his  own  place  as 
master  of  the  Works.  Dave  had  failed  him;  had  shown 
himself  unworthy  of  his  confidence.  On  whom  now  could 
he  lean? 

He  thought  a  long  time,  his  chin  supported  on  his 
bent  thumbs,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  broken  whip  lying 
on  the  floor  where  he  had  thrown  it. 

He  was  oppressed  by  the  prophecy  of  Benjamin  True- 
love.  What  ill  fortunes  were  in  store  for  his  two  chil 
dren?  Hecla — must  he  leave  her  to  face  trouble  with 
out  a  protector?  He  sighed  as  he  thought  of  Eichard 
Hallett.  Why  had  she  not  accepted  this  eligible  suitor  ? 
Yet  he  would  not  compel  his  daughter  to  wed  against 
her  will. 

Taking  a  sheet  of  paper  Joshua  Sandwith  began  writ 
ing  in  his  curious  exact  fashion. 

Christy  Pickle,  after  her  talk  with  Joshua  Sandwith 
on  the  subject  of  leaks  and  shingling  at  The  Bank,  took 


156:  HECLA   SANDWITH 

her  way  up  the  turnpike.  As  she  tramped  along  in 
Hog's  stiff  Sunday  boots  she  passed  a  string  of  ore- 
wagons  returning  from  the  mines — great  clumsy  convey 
ances  drawn  by  gaunt  mules  caked  with  clay  and  their 
rumps  worn  by  breech-straps.  Seated  on  the  saddle 
mule  or  trudging  beside  their  teams  were  the  drivers 
in  smock  and  felt  hat,  jerking  the  long  single  rein, 
their  "Gee-haws!"  sounding  above  rattling  wheel  and 
cheery  chime  of  bells.  The  teamsters  gave  the  old 
woman  respectful  greeting.  Not  one  there  was  but 
owed  Christy  Pickle  gratitude  for  some  act  of  kind 
ness.  Christy  was  now  on  one  of  her  myriad  missions 
of  forceful  kindness.  Eager  benevolence  increased  the 
swiftness  of  her  strides  and  gave  a  severe  expression  to 
the  angular  face,  with  its  intricate  wrinkles  and  skin 
like  that  of  a  plucked  pullet. 

She  had  not  proceeded  far  when  her  black  eyes  be 
held  Miss  Clover  Littlepage  coming  home  from  school. 
To  the  old  woman  the  girl  owed  much  of  her  success  as 
teacher  of  refractory  urchins.  Christy  often  visited 
the  school-room,  and  at  the  least  disturbance  would  shake 
her  stick  at  the  children.  This  interest  proved  at  times 
a  mixed  blessing.  One  day,  being  informed  the  pretty 
school-mistress  was  teaching  her  scholars  that  the  earth 
was  round,  the  autocrat  of  the  Works  marched  into 
the  school-room  and  bore  off  the  globe  with  which 
Miss  Clover  demonstrated  the  fact,  declaring  she  saw 
the  sun  rise  and  set  with  her  own  eyes.  Later  this  same 
globe,  divided  in  halves,  might  have  been  seen  adorning 
the  heads  of  two  orphans,  afterward  known  as  Eastern 
and  Western  Hem. 

Miss  Littlepage  greeted  Christy  with  a  smile  that 


HOT  BLOOD  AND  A  COLD  DECREE  157 

animated  her  face.  Tips  of  hidden  pearl  gleamed  be 
hind  the  clinging  red  lips  and  a  little  strawberry  mole 
on  her  cheek  danced  gaily  for  a  moment.  Christy's 
look  as  she  paused  apparently  frightened  the  mole  into 
sobriety. 

"Say,  hez  Dave  spoke  to  ye  yit  about  morryen'  him  ?" 
she  demanded. 

The  school-mistress  blushed.  ''No,  he  hasn't,"  she 
faltered  truthfully,  "but,  please,  what  right  have  you  to 
ask  me  such  a  question  as  that  ?" 

"An'  he  don't  never  intend  to/'  was  the  reply  in  a 
voice  that  kindness  only  made  rougher.  "You  ain't 
the  only  one  he  fools.  Dave  is  keen  on  the  gals,  be  they 
fast  or  loose.  Ah  speaks  fer  yer  own  good,  Sis,"  she 
went  on  with  well-meaning  harshness,  "wen  Ah  warns 
ye  not  to  be  took  in  by  his  soft  sodder.  It's  the  way  a 
man  hez.  Now,  if  you  got  sense  ye'll  up  and  hitch  with 
one  of  them  clerks  at  the  store  ez'll  only  be  too  proud 
to  git  ye." 

"Thank  you  for  your  kind  advice,"  Miss  Littlepage 
said  haughtily,  and  with  her  head  held  high  she  con 
tinued  on  her  way. 

Christy  Pickle,  her  hands  planted  on  her  hips,  sighed 
as  she  looked  after  her.  The  virtue  of  her  sex  lay  heavy 
on  her  old  heart.  She  thought  of  her  own  girlhood  and 
its  temptations. 

"Well,  Ah  done  me  dooty,"  she  muttered. 

As  the  little  school-mistress  walked  indignantly  down 
the  road,  the  object  of  old  Christy's  cautions  came  in 
sight.  Dave  was  on  his  chestnut  mare,  Pedigree,  and  his 
face  wore  the  sullen,  angry  look  with  which  he  had 
left  his  stepfather.  He  considered  himself  to  have 


158  HECLA   SANDWITH 

been  outrageously  treated  by  his  father  in  the  conver 
sation  that  had  just  taken  place  between  them.  The 
world  was  down  on  him,  he  reflected  as  he  rode  along. 
Hecla  had  won  Mr.  Sandwith's  promise  not  to  tell 
her  brother  of  Benjamin  Truelove's  prediction  and  she 
had  a  solemn  pledge  from  Hetty  also.  But  Hetty, 
meeting  Dave  a  few  days  later,  was  overcome  by  the 
temptation  to  make  him  uncomfortable.  "What  was  the 
use  of  having  the  tea-party  spoiled  for  nothing?"  she 
retorted  at  Hecla's  reproaches.  "I'm  glad  I  told  him; 
it  will  do  him  good/'  Dave  had  heard  of  the  "message" 
with  indignation,  remarking  that  it  was  not  the  Spirit 
but  his  aunts  and  uncles  who  had  moved  the  young 
preacher  to  prophesy;  they  were  always  filling  people's 
ears  with  malicious  tales  about  him.  He  had  used  the 
information  Hetty  had  provided  him  to  his  own  ad 
vantage  in  his  talks  with  Hecla. 

"Well,  if  everybody  believes  I  am  going  to  ruin  the 
family,  what's  the  use  of  disappointing  people  ?  There's 
father,  he  has  no  faith  in  me  now !" 

"That  is  not  true,  Dave,"  Hecla  had  answered.  "And 
I  believe  in  you — I  shall  always  believe  in  you!"  It 
was  partly  pride,  partly  fear  of  the  effect  of  the  news 
on  his  father  that  had  caused  Dave  to  conceal  from  him 
the  fact  of  the  rejected  Louisville  order.  Mr.  Sand 
with's  anger  on  discovering  he  had  been  lied  to  gave 
Dave  uneasiness;  but  he  trusted  to  Hecla's  affection 
for  him  and  her  influence  over  her  father  to  make  peace 
between  them.  She  had  shielded  him  from  Mr.  Sand 
with's  anger  on  so  many  previous  occasions  she  would 
doubtless  be  able  to  smooth  over  the  present  difficulty. 

On  seeing  Clover  the  young  man  drew  rein. 


HOT  BLOOD  AND  A  COLD  DECKEE  159 

"Hello,"  he  called  out  at  the  sight  of  her  flushed,  un 
happy  face,  "what's  the  matter  ?" 

"Nothing,"  she  said  with  a  quivering  lip.  "Don't  stop 
me,  please."  And  she  started  to  pass  by  him. 

"Wait,"  Dave  remonstrated,  jumping  off  his  horse, 
"I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"I  don't  want  to  talk  to  you,"  she  said,  struggling 
with  her  tears.  "I  never  want  to  speak  to  you  or  see  you 
again !" 

"You  know  you  don't  mean  that,"  he  smiled. 

"I  do  mean  it !"  she  faltered.  "What  right  have  you 
to  stop  me  this  way  ?" 

"Why,  lots  of  right,"  he  answered  coolly.  "Come,  I 
want  to  know  who's  been  hurting  your  feelings." 

Slipping  his  arm  through  his  horse's  bridle  Dave 
drew  the  reluctant  girl  down  a  lane  that  ran  from  the 
pike  between  pine-grown  hills.  When  a  turn  hid  them 
from  sight  of  the  main  road  Dave  fastened  Pedigree  to 
a  sapling,  and  Clover  and  he  sat  down  on  a  fern- 
tufted  log. 

"Now  tell  me  about  it,"  he  said,  slipping  his  arm 
around  her  slim  young  waist. 

"Don't,"  she  protested.   "Christy  Pickle  says—" 

"What  does  Christy  Pickle  say?" 

Sudden  tears  were  her  answer. 

He  drew  the  woeful  face  to  him  until  it  rested  against 
his  shoulder.  "You  are  pretty  fond  of  me  after  all, 
aren't  you,  little  girl  ?"  he  asked  in  a  thick  voice.  "Say 
you're  fond  of  me."  And  his  lips  met  hers. 

"You  know,  you  know,"  she  sobbed. 

"Then  why  did  you  act  as  you  did  when  I  stopped 
you?" 


160  HECLA   SANDWITH 

"Because  Christy  Pickle  told  me — told  me  you  didn't 
mean — " 

"Go  on/'  he  coaxed  her. 

"That  you  treat  everybody  this  way." 

"It's  one  of  Christy  Pickle's  lies.  I  don't  love  any 
body  but  you,  Clover." 

"But—" 

"But  what?" 

"Christy  Pickle  says—" 

"The  old  oracle !  It  makes  such  a  difference  what 
she  says !" 

"She  said  you  never  intended  marrying  me,"  Clover 
persisted,  "and  that  I  ought  to  Tiitch'  with  one  of  the 
clerks  at  the  store !"  Indignation  dried  the  tears  in  her 
blue  eyes.  "It's  not  kind  of  you  to  laugh !"  she  flashed 
at  his  droll  look. 

"Which  clerk  did  she  suggest?  Was  it  Sam  Taylor? 
He  has  weak  eyes  but  he's  a  nice  fellow.  Or  was  it 
'Dutchy'  ?" 

She  drew  away  from  him  in  offense. 

"Clover,  I'm  only  teasing  you !" 

"No,  I  won't  be  kissed,"  she  cried,  struggling  with 
him.  "It's  true  what  Christy  Pickle  said  and  you  don't 
respect  or  care  for  me.  I'm  not  good  enough  for  you, 
I  suppose  !  Don't  I  know  how  proud  your  family  is  ?" 

He  drew  her  close  to  him. 

"Kiss  me,  little  girl,  and  say  you'll  marry  me." 

"No,  no,"  she  breathed,  "let  me  go." 

"Not  until  you  give  me  a  kiss !" 

"Dave,"  she  sighed,  "Dave—" 

The  grave  old  mountain  pines  spread  their  mantling 
branches  over  them.  The  heat  of  the  summer  sun  drew 


HOT  BLOOD  AND  A  COLD  DECREE  161 

fragrance  from  the  golden  moss.  A  thrush  sang  its 
happy  song,  and  the  bees  in  the  wayside  flowers  boomed 
drowsily.  Clover  lay  against  his  breast  in  the  sweet 
musing  solitude  of  the  enfolding  hills.  She  was  only  a 
child  and  she  loved  him.  And  to  love  is  to  trust — to 
have  no  fears. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  YOUTH   THAT   MEANS  TO   BE  OF   NOTE 

Wentworth  was  seated  at  his  desk  one  morning  toil 
ing  over  a  complicated  land-suit.  The  office  fronted 
the  Diamond — the  only  level  space  in  the  hilly  town — 
and  through  the  window  he  could  see  the  white-pillared 
court-house  with  its  maple-shaded  green  where  sheep 
were  grazing.  Beyond  neighboring  roofs  rose  the  hazy 
heather-blue  mountains  that  divided  the  rolling  valley 
from  its  neighbor.  It  was  August,  and  seventeen-year 
locusts  vibrated  the  heated  air  with  their  ancient  bur 
den  of  "Pharaoh."  Dunkirk  sages  called  these  visitors 
warnings  from  the  Almighty  that  the  country  would  be 
chastened  for  its  political  crimes. 

Politics  was  the  all-absorbing  topic  of  conversation 
that  exciting  summer  of  fifty-seven.  Dunkirk  had  been 
holding  indignation  meetings  over  the  Sumner-Brooks 
episode.  The  Tribune  was  eagerly  scanned  by  pious  Re 
publicans  for  latest  exaggerations  of  Border  Ruffian 
ism.  Local  patriotism  had  expressed  itself  worthily  in 
subscriptions  to  the  Kansas  fund.  James  Buchanan  had 
been  nominated  by  the  Democratic  party  and  "Free 
Trade,  Free  Men  and  Fremont"  was  already  a  familiar 
phrase. 

Wentworth,  glancing  up  from  his  papers,  saw  the 
162 


A    YOUTH  163 

sturdy  short  figure  of  Joshua  S'andwith  passing  along 
the  street.  He  surmised  that  his  uncle  was  coming  to 
discuss  with  him  the  political  situation  of  the  town.  The 
night  before  there  had  been  a  meeting  of  the  Democratic 
party  for  the  nomination  of  county  officers. 

No  one  took  greater  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  na 
tion  than  Joshua  Sandwith.  It  was  his  habit  daily  to 
walk  to  the  post-office  to  secure  at  first  hand,  for  fear 
of  mishap,  his  Tribune  and  his  North  American,  the 
two  solid  pillars  of  his  political  faith.  These  he  read 
with  zeal  from  beginning  to  end,  then  placed  them  un 
der  the  cushion  of  the  arm-chair  on  which  he  always 
sat  to  guard  them  from  disturbance.  The  loss  of  his 
Tribune  before  he  had  scanned  for  the  second  time  what 
Horace  Greeley  had  to  say  on  free  trade,  the  Papal  men 
ace,  Irish  immigration  and  like  national  ills,  frequently 
upset  the  household.  The  iron-master  had  on  several 
occasions  figured  prominently  in  presidential  cam 
paigns,  much  to  the  scandal  of  his  brothers  Pentecost 
and  Gideon.  His  "pocket-knife  argument"  in  favor  of 
high  tariff  was  as  well  known  as  his  demonstration  of 
the  good  effects  of  his  galvanic  battery,  which  began, 
"Thee  knows  all  hangs  on  the  spine — ."  During  the 
Henry  Clay  campaign  Joshua  Sandwith  canvassed  the 
inhabitants  of  the  next  valley,  popularly  referred  to  as 
"the  dumb  Dutch,"  and  tried  to  harangue  them  to  his 
own  political  views,  with  the  result  that  the  simple 
Germans  were  convinced  the  old  Quaker  was  himself 
aspiring  to  fill  the  presidential  chair. 

"Wentworth,  thee  must  be  a  leader,  not  a  follower  of 
men,"  lisped  the  old  iron-master,  as  he  settled  himself 
in  a  chair  opposite  his  nephew,  his  small,  strong  hands 


164  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

clasped  on  the  head  of  his  black  walnut  cane  and  his 
angular  mouth  contentedly  working  his  quid.  It  was 
significant  of  an  unusual  state  of  mind  that  his  letters 
were  in  his  hat,  where  he  had  put  them  after  getting 
them  from  the  post-office,  and  that  his  newspapers  still 
reposed  unread  in  the  tail  of  his  plain  gray  coat.  He 
continued:  "I  have  proposed  thy  name  for  county 
treasurer,  nephew.  The  Democrats  are  determined  to 
win  in  the  coming  fight  by  fair  means  or  foul,  and  we 
must  take  off  our  coats.  Thee'll  have  a  hard  tussle  and 
must  take  the  stump  and  show  thy  spirit." 

Wentworth's  face  denoted  none  of  the  enthusiasm 
Mr.  Sandwith  anticipated  and  he  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"What  ails  thee,"  he  asked;  "isn't  thee  feeling  well?" 

"I'm  quite  well,  uncle." 

Mr.  Sandwith  irritably  screwed  his  wig  back  into 
place. 

"Then  what's  come  over  thee  of  late?"  he  demand 
ed.  "I  had  hopes  of  seeing  thee  a  great  lawyer,  but 
thee  no  longer  has  the  air  of  a  man  in  love  with  his 
career.  To-day  I  tell  thee  there's  a  chance  of  thee  win 
ning  the  first  political  office  in  the  county  and  thee  re 
ceives  the  news  as  though  thee  had  no  ambition  to  be 
a  credit  to  the  community." 

"I'm  sorry  I  disappoint  you,  Uncle  Joshua." 

"Wentworth,  does  thee  think  me  a  fool  or  blind?" 
was  the  impatient  retort.  "I  have  suspected  for  some 
time  there  is  trouble  between  thee  and  Hecla.  Dare 
thee  deny  it  ?  She  has  been  moping  ever  since  she  came 
home  from  school.  Thee  and  she  have  always  been  too 
fond  of  each  other  for  the  good  of  either.  If  my  daugh 
ter  harbors  wrong  feelings  for  thee — " 


A   YOCTK  165 

"Uncle,  you  do  Hecla  the  greatest  injustice,"  broke 
in  Wentworth,  flushing.  "She  has  never  had  the  slight 
est  feeling  for  me  except  as  a  cousin.  There  is  trouble 
between  us,  I  admit;  but  it  is  my  fault.  I  am  respon 
sible  for  her  unhappiness.  I  have  grown  to  love  her, 
uncle.  You  will  think  it  unworthy  of  me,  I  know,  to 
have  let  Hecla  find  it  out.  It  is  a  poor  return  for  all 
your  help  and  kindness  to  me." 

The  other  looked  at  his  averted  face.  "Well,"  he  com 
mented  dryly,  "thee's  an  honest  lad,  Wentworth,  and 
doesn't  lie  to  me.  I  have  had  an  inkling  of  this  thing 
and  I  don't  blame  thee  as  much  as  thee  supposes.  Hecla 
is  also  at  fault,  I  have  reason  to  believe,  in  spite  of  what 
thee  says.  But  it's  thy  part  as  a  man  to  wrestle  with  thy 
heart  and  overcome  this  folly."  He  laid  his  hand  gently 
on  his  nephew's  knee.  "Wentworth,  thee  is  young.  I 
have  not  forgotten  what  youth  is  and  its  temptations. 
But  I  have  faith  in  thee  and  thy  manhood.  Thee  must 
promise  me  thee'll  take  up  the  duties  of  life  and  prove 
thyself  the  sensible  lad  I  know  thee  to  be.  Learn  to 
conquer.  Show  thy  spirit  in  the  great  fight  before  us! 
Win  the  battle  against  the  beast,  Democracy,  and  it  will 
teach  thee  to  win  the  battle  against  thy  wrong  passion. 
I  love  thee  like  a  son,  Wentworth.  Would  to  God  thee 
were  my  son !" 

He  sat  for  a  moment  silent,  an  expression  of  sadness 
on  his  sharp  sallow  face.  Then  with  his  usual  impera 
tive  manner,  he  said,  striking  his  cane  smartly  on  the 
floor:  "Boy,  thee  must  be  the  next  county  treasurer!" 

After  he  had  gone  Wentworth  sat  thinking  over 
Joshua  Sandwith's  words.  A  certain  relief  followed  on 
the  confession  he  had  made.  His  conscience  had 


166  HECLA   SANDWITH 

troubled  him  because  he  supposed  his  uncle  did  not  sus 
pect  his  feelings  for  Hecla.  He  was  glad  the  subject  had 
been  brought  up  and  that  he  now  stood  in  an  honest 
light  in  his  benefactor's  eyes.  He  had  not  expected  this 
gentleness ;  and  the  allowance  shown  him  touched  Went- 
worth  keenly.  He  recognized  the  truth  of  his  uncle's 
rebuke.  Thoughts  of  Hecla  had  been  permitted  to  sap 
his  energy  for  work.  There  was  no  doubt  that  he  had 
fallen  into  a  spirit  of  lethargy,  had  grown  indifferent 
to  ambition's  call.  He  asked  himself  what  had  become 
of  his  manhood  that  he  should  have  so  yielded  to  hope 
less  repining.  His  uncle  had  exacted  a  promise  that  he 
would  accept  the  nomination  if  it  were  offered  him,  and 
that  he  would  throw  himself  into  the  coming  campaign ; 
and  he  was  resolved  to  keep  his  word. 

He  had  not  been  to  see  Hecla,  as  she  wished;  he  had 
been  able  to  put  so  much  restraint  on  his  love.  This 
self-denial  had,  however,  cost  him  dear.  Emotions 
vested  the  image  of  Hecla  in  his  heart  with  a  hundred 
soft  appeals,  and  he  constantly  speculated  over  Eichard 
Hallett's  admiration  for  Hecla.  That  the  Englishman 
had  paid  her  significant  attentions  he  was  aware  from 
seeing  them  constantly  together  during  their  stay  at 
Moshannon  Hall,  and  from  town  gossip,  which  not  only 
coupled  their  names  but  predicted  a  speedy  marriage. 
He  confessed  to  himself  that  he  could  not  yet  recon 
cile  himself  to  the  thought  of  Hecla's  being  the  wife 
of  any  other  man ;  and  it  was  with  satisfaction  of  which 
he  felt  somewhat  ashamed  that  he  had  learned  from  the 
Englishman  how  much  of  the  time  his  business  interests 
would  keep  him  at  Snow  Shoe. 

It  was  some  days  after  his  uncle's  visit  to  his  office 


A   YOUTH  167 

that  Wentworth  met  Richard  Hallett  on  the  Diamond. 
As  they  shook  hands  Wentworth  asked  the  other  how 
he  was  getting  along  in  his  work. 

Hallett  and  Mr.  Trevis  Markham  of  Moshannon  Hall 
had  gone  into  partnership  in  a  coal-mining  enterprise. 
A  promising  vein  had  been  struck  not  far  from  Snow 
Shoe,  and  Hallett  hoped  soon  to  have  the  mine  in  opera 
tion. 

"Why,  very  well,"  the  Englishman  replied.  "There 
have  been  some  unfortunate  delays,  but  by  next  month 
we  expect  to  have  the  miners  at  work.  I  have  the  fullest 
confidence  in  the  success  of  our  undertaking.  Of  course 
we  have  had  to  begin  on  a  small  scale  for  want  of  capi 
tal.  Lack  of  capital  is  our  chief  trouble." 

"Why  haven't  you  got  my  uncle,  Mr.  Sandwith,  in 
terested  in  your  schemes  ?  He  has  always  had  such  faith 
in  Snow  Shoe." 

"I  have  not  asked  Mr.  Sandwith  to  put  money  in  the 
mine,"  Hallett  answered  quietly.  "I  am  expecting  some 
capital  from  English  friends  to  whom  I  have  written 
about  our  enterprises." 

"You  know,  Hallett,"  Wentworth  said  earnestly,  "I 
am  ready  to  do  anything  in  my  power  to  persuade  our 
prudent  Dunkirk  citizens  what  a  good  investment  Snow 
Shoe  is,  now  you  have  taken  matters  in  hand  out  there. 
Unfortunately,  the  failure  of  the  old  company  has 
made  them  cautious." 

"Yes,  and  they  are  cautious  about  me.  It  seems  I 
have  the  reputation  in  Dunkirk  of  being  a  free-thinker. 
How  that  can  affect  my  capacity  to  run  a  coal  mine,  I 
confess  I  am  unable  to  see.  But,  believe,  I'm  not  dis 
couraged  over  that,"  he  ended  with  a  laugh. 


168  HECLA   SANDWITH 

Here  their  talk  was  interrupted  by  the  tripping  ap 
proach  of  Mrs.  Tathem  accompanied  by  her  daughter, 
Pinkie.  Mrs.  Tathem  greeted  her  old  boarder  with 
nods  and  becks  and  wreathed  smiles. 

"Why,  Mr.  Hallett !"  she  cried  archly,  "what  a 
stranger  you  are  these  days  I" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Tathem,  I  seldom  get  time  to  come  to 
Dunkirk,"  said  Hallett. 

"Now,  don't  give  the  coal  mine  as  an  excuse,  Mr.  Hal 
lett/'  the  lady  chid,  playfully  threatening  him  with  a 
forefinger  on  which  was  a  mourning  ring  in  memory  of 
her  lamented  spouse.  "You  mayn't  find  time  to  come 
and  see  us  town-folks.  Burnham's  far  too  attractive,  I 
fear!  When  are  we  to  congratulate  you  and  Miss 
Hecla?" 

"Ma,  dear,"  her  daughter  expostulated,  "don't  talk 
that  way !  You're  hurting  Mr.  Oliver's  feelings  !" 

"That's  true,  so  I  am !  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Oliver ; 
I  ought  to  have  remembered  how  sweet  you  and  your 
cousin  used  to  be  before  Mr.  Hallett  entered  the  field. 
And  to  think  of  you  two  gentlemen  being  such  friends ! 
Well,  I  call  it  just  too  nice  of  you,  Mr.  Oliver,  not  to  be 
challenging  your  rival  to  a  duel.  Coffee  and  pistols  for 
two,  as  they  say!"  And  Mrs.  Tathem  jingled  her  ear 
rings  in  ecstasies  of  pleasantry.  "But  we  mustn't  in 
terrupt  your  conversation.  Good-by !  And,  Mr.  Hallett, 
do  come  and  see  us  when  you  can  spare  the  time — from 
your  coal  mine !"  And  the  lady  tripped  away  with  Miss 
Pinkie  in  her  wake. 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  pleasanter  to  continue  our  talk 
at  the  office,"  Wentworth  said  somewhat  awkwardly. 

"Yes,"  the  Englishman  assented.   "I  was  on  my  way 


A   YOUTH  169 

there.  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  tHe  purchase  of 
the  mining  outfit  of  the  old  Snow  Shoe  company." 

They  said  nothing  more  until  they  had  reached 
Oliver's  office.  Hallett  drew  out  a  bundle  of  papers 
from  his  pocket,  but  instead  of  passing  them  over  to 
the  lawyer  he  held  them  in  his  hand  while  he  asked  with 
characteristic  directness : 

"Is  it  true  what  Mrs.  Tathem  said?" 

"You  mean  her  reference  to  Hecla  Sandwith  and  my 
self?" 

"Yes,"  Hallett  answered,  "if  you  don't  mind  telling 
me." 

"It  depends  on  why  you  ask,"  Wentworth  returned 
rather  stiffly. 

"The  reason  I  ask  is  that  I  love  Miss  Sandwith  and 
have  told  her  so,"  was  the  reply. 

"You're  engaged  to  my  cousin?" 

"No,  but  I  am  confident  that  I  shall  win  her." 

"If  my  cousin  has  refused  you  I  don't  believe  she 
will  ever  change  her  mind,"  Wentworth  answered. 

"And  yet  I  hope  she  will  do  so,"  Hallett  said  quietly. 
"Mr.  Sandwith  approves  of  my  suit." 

"You  mean  that  you'd  marry  her  whether  she  loved 
you  or  not  ?"  Wentworth  demanded. 

"Yes;  unless,  Mr.  Oliver,  you've  a  claim  I  should 
feel  bound  to  respect."  And  he  added :  "Miss  Sandwith 
would  learn  to  love  me." 

"You  need  not  consider  me,"  Wentworth  said.  "Our 
relationship  makes  marriage  between  us  impossible.  We 
are  first  cousins,  you  know." 

"First  cousins  frequently  marry  in  England.  Is  there 
a  law  forbidding  it  in  Pennsylvania?" 


170  HECLA    SANDWITH 

"No,  there's  no  law;  but  the  prejudice  of  Quakers 
is  very  strong  on  that  point.  It  would  be  considered  by 
them  next  to  criminal." 

"So  that  is  why  you  hesitate !" 

"I  owe  too  much  to  my  uncle  not  to  regard  his  feel 
ings.  No,  Mr.  Hallett,  I'm  no  obstacle  in  your  path." 

"Then  I  shall  win  your  cousin/'  Hallett  said  after 
a  slight  pause.  "Miss  Sandwith  is  young  and  can  not 
be  certain  of  her  mind." 

"If  you  think  that,"  the  other  said  quickly,  "you  don't 
appreciate  her  character.  She  doesn't  wish  to  marry. 
Her  father's  commands,  however,  would  very  strongly 
influence  her  mind.  Considering  her  sentiments  about 
marriage  I  think  she  is  right  in  remaining  single." 

"You  think  she  ought  not  to  marry?"  Hallett  said 
with  a  half-smile  that  Wentworth  considered  intolerable. 

"I  think  she  ought  only  to  marry  a  man  that  she  loves 
passionately — with  her  whole  heart.  Otherwise  the  mar 
riage  will  result  in  unhappiness." 

"And  you  think  that  Miss  Sandwith  loves  you  that 
way — passionately  and  with  her  whole  heart  ?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  that  she  loves  me  that  way," 
Wentworth  returned,  flushing.  "I  have  no  proof  that 
she  loves  me  at  all.  I  am  not  opposing  her  marriage  to 
another  because  of  my  own  feelings  for  her.  It  is  be 
cause  I  understand  her,  because  I  know  that  only  a  very 
deep  love  for  the  man  she  weds  will  overcome  certain 
views  she  has  regarding  marriage." 

"Surely  Miss  Sandwith  has  not  what  in  England  are 
called  'advanced  views'  regarding  matrimony?" 

"No,  I  mean — you  have  perhaps  heard  how  her 
mother  died  ?" 


'A   YOUTH  171 

"Mrs.  Sandwith,  I  have  been  told,  died  of  premature 
child-birth  caused  by  a  lightning  shock  while  out  driv 
ing/5 

"Yes,  and  Hecla  was  with  her  at  the  time  of  the  ac 
cident.  It  made  a  terrible  impression." 

"One  can  easily  understand  that  it  would  do  so.  But 
you  do  not,  perhaps,  appreciate  how  such  morbid  fears 
would  vanish  where  a  woman  loves." 

"I  very  well  understand  that.  That  is  why  I  said 
my  cousin  ought  only  to  marry  a  man  she  loves  pas 
sionately.  Otherwise — " 

"There  will  be  no  otherwise  as  far  as  Miss  Sandwith 
is  concerned/'  Hallett  interrupted.  "I  shall  succeed  in 
winning  her  heart." 

"You  are  over-confident,  Mr.  Hallett." 

"Not  over-confident,"  was  the  answer.  "I  possess  only 
what  every  man  should  have  to  succeed  in  life."  He  re 
garded  Wentworth  for  a  moment  gravely.  "You  are 
frank  with  me,  are  you  not,  when  you  say  that  you 
yield  your  claims  to  Miss  Sandwith's  hand?" 

"Yes,"  Wentworth  answered,  "honor  demands  that  I 
give  her  up." 

"Then  I  shall  win  her  for  my  wife." 

"Yes,  he'll  win  her  for  his  wife,"  Wentworth  said 
bitterly  to  himself  after  the  Englishman  had  gone.  "But 
what  about  her  love  ?" 

Hecla's  tragic  face  rose  before  his  mind. 

"She  was  born  to  be  unhappy,"  the  thought  came  to 
him,  "and  this  Englishman  will  be  the  cause  of  her 
worst  unhappiness." 


CHAPTER  XV 

STREETS   OF  ASKALON 

Miss  Pinkie  Tathem  was  seated  on  her  mother's 
Dutch  door-sill  reading  The  Children  of  the  Abbey. 
The  hard  rays  of  the  August  sun  beat  down  on  the  little 
iron  porch  as  if  with  praiseworthy  attempt  to  ripen  its 
clusters  of  perpetually  green  grapes.  The  only  outdoor 
sounds  were  the  locusts,  noisy  as  watchman's  rattles,  in 
the  maples  in  front  of  the  house.  From  time  to  time  she 
lifted  her  eyes  from  the  absorbing  volume  to  glance  up 
and  down  the  street.  Miss  Pinkie  was  a  diligent  student 
of  Dunkirk  street  life.  When  not  seated  on  the  door- 
sill  she  was  usually  to  be  seen  at  the  front  parlor  win 
dow,  where  it  was  said  she  often  carried  her  plate  at 
meal  hours. 

Her  aunt,  feeding  the  goldfish  in  the  hall,  gave  a 
nervous  start  which  caused  her  to  drop  her  bread 
crumbs  in  a  sudden  bounty. 

"What  was  it  you  said,  Pinkie?"  she  murmured  in 
her  agitated  tones  as  she  came  to  the  doorway.  "I 
thought  I  heard  you  say — "  Pinkie's  Aunt  'Dosh  had 
never  recovered  from  the  shock  to  her  sensibilities  when 
the  late  Mr.  Tathem  jilted  her  for  her  sister  'Stash. 
That  was  years  ago,  but  Dunkirk  remembered  with 
what  effect  she  had  used  her  scissors  on  Eustacia's 

172 


STEEETS    OF   ASKALON  173 

bridal  gown,  vowing  as  she  did  so,  that  she  would  never 
speak  to  her  sister  again ;  and  Eudocia  kept  her  vow. 

"I  said,  'I  am  betrayed'/'  was  her  niece's  impatient 
answer.  "It's  Amanda's  language  'when  a  confused 
idea  darted  into  her  mind  that  a  deep-laid  plot  had 
been  concerted  to  ruin  her.' '; 

"Oh,  you  were  saying  things  out  of  a  book!  You 
startled  me  so.  I  thought  some  one  had  been  trifling 
with  your  feelings.  'Men  are  deceitful  ever/  as  one  of 
the  great  poets  says ;  I  thought  Mr.  Hallett  had — though 
he  seems  a  nice  honorable  gentleman." 

"I  had  to  avoid  Mr.  Hallett,  Aunt  'Dosh,"  Pinkie  re 
plied. 

"How  painful  it  is,  Pinkie,  the  way  you  have  to  avoid 
people!  There  is  Mr.  Blair  Nandine,  you  are  avoiding 
him.  I  hear  Miss  Hetty  Wain  isn't.  But  you're  not 
avoiding  Mr.  Donovan,  are  you,  dear?  I  remember  you 
walked  home  from  church  with  him  last  Sunday." 

Pinkie  admitted  the  fact  with  a  slight  sigh.  She 
feared  the  young  rector  suspected  she  left  her  prayer- 
book  in  her  pew  intentionally,  he  had  been  so  coldly  po 
lite  in  assisting  her  to  find  it.  "I'm  afraid  I  shall  soon 
have  to  begin,  Aunt  'Dosh,"  she  declared. 

"Well,  Pinkie,  I'm  sure  you  are  right.  One  can't  be 
too  careful  about  falling  in  love;  it's  so  apt  to  be  with 
the  wrong  person  and  then — it  breaks  one's  heart." 
After  a  little  nervous  pause  she  added :  "Pinkie,  dear,  I 
wish  you'd  tell  your  mother  Katey's  cut  off  the  tender 
loin  again  and  given  it  to  the  cats.  She  said  it  was  the 
full  moon  and  that  made  her  do  it,  but  I  think  it  can't  be 
full  moon  again  since  she  did  it  last  time.  Did  you 
happen  to  notice  the  other  evening  when  you  were  on 


174  HECLA   SANDWITH 

the  steps  with  Mr.  Karl?  It  is  very  strange  of  Katey 
to  act  so !  I  think  she  must  have  been  trifled  with  when 
she  was  young.  Well,  Pinkie,  you'd  better  tell  your 
mother  about  Katey  and  the  cat." 

"If  the  cat's  eaten  the  tenderloin  what  is  the  use  of 
telling  ma?"  her  niece  said  with  petulant  practicality. 
"I  am  so  tired  of  repeating  things  for  you,  Aunt  'Dosh. 
I  really  think  you  ought  to  speak  to  ma  yourself  after 
twenty  j^ears !" 

"You  know  I  can't  speak  to  sister  'Stash,  Pinkie.  I 
try,  I'm  sure — I  try,  and  I  can't  utter  a  sound.  My 
heart  has  almost  forgiven  her,  I  think;  but  my  voice 
hasn't.  I  wonder  what  I'll  do  when  I  die.  I  shouldn't 
like  to  die  without  telling  sister  'Stash  I  have  nothing 
against  her." 

"Mr.  Donovan  would  call  it  very  un-Christian  of  you, 
I  know  that.  I  often  wonder  why  Mr.  Hallett  never 
asked  what  the  matter  was  between  you  and  ma.  I  know 
I'd  have  asked." 

"Everybody  hasn't  your  innocent  curiosity,  dear. 
Perhaps  Mr.  Hallett  didn't  care  what  was  the  trouble. 
But  I  can't  talk  about  it,  Pinkie,  it  makes  me  feel  so 
strange," — and  Miss  Eudocia,  patting  her  tears  with 
her  handkerchief,  faded  from  the  doorway  noiselessly  as 
a  ghost. 

Pinkie  had  ceased  to  pay  attention  to  her  aunt,  for  she 
had  caught  sight  of  Joshua  Sandwith  with  a  box  under 
his  arm  coming  up  the  street.  She  surmised  the  box  to 
be  the  iron-master's  notorious  galvanic  battery.  And 
when  Mr.  Sandwith  entered  the  house  of  a  former  iron 
master  who  lived  opposite  Mrs.  Tathem's,  she  Avondered 
if  he  were  going  to  use  it  on  the  invalid. 


STEEETS    OF   ASKALON  175 

Presently  there  were  steps  descending  the  hall  stairs. 
Pinkie  knew  whose.  She  quickly  gave  each  cheek  a  little 
pinch  to  bring  out  the  color,  tidied  her  blond  curls  and 
smoothed  her  white  muslin  skirts.  "And  where  are 
you  bound,  Mr.  Donovan?"  she  asked  sweetly,  as  she 
made  room  for  the  young  rector  to  pass. 

"I  am  going  to  inquire  how  our  sick  neighbor  is  to 
day,"  Mr.  Donovan  answered  briefly.  And  without  lin 
gering  to  talk,  as  Pinkie  hoped  he  would,  he  crossed  the 
street  to  the  house  Mr.  Sandwith  had  just  entered. 

She  could  see  Mr.  Sandwith  still  waited  by  the  open 
window  of  the  parlor  and  she  noticed  that  at  the  en 
trance  of  Mr.  Donovan  he  placed  on  his  head  the  beaver 
he  had  been  nursing  on  his  knee.  "What  a  hateful  old 
man  he  is !"  Pinkie  commented,  appreciating  that  the 
action  was  intended  to  declare  the  iron-master's  aversion 
to  showing  "hat  honor"  to  "hireling  preachers."  The 
rector  took  a  seat  at  the  other  parlor  window,  so  Pinkie 
was  able  to  watch  both  their  profiles.  Soon  it  was  evi 
dent,  from  certain  motions  of  the  two  heads,  a  conver 
sation  had  begun  and  a  conversation  of  a  heated  nature, 
for  the  motions  became  more  emphatic.  Now,  as  if  to 
avoid  disturbing  the  invalid  up  stairs,  Mr.  Sandwith 
thrust  his  head  out  of  the  window  and  Pinkie  caught 
the  sound  of  his  wrathful  voice  saying :  "For  thee  is  of 
the  sort  that  creep  into  houses  and  lead  captive  silly 
women  laden  with  sin."  Mr.  Donovan  instantly  fol 
lowed  his  eccentric  example  and  thrust  his  head  out  of 
his  window  answering  in  spirited  retort.  After  which 
Pinkie  saw  Mr.  Donovan  rise  and  leave  the  house.  He 
crossed  the  street  with  a  white  face,  mounted  the  stairs 
to  his  own  room,  ignoring  Pinkie's  excited  questions, 


176  HECLA    SANDWITH 

and  she  could  hear  the  door  close  with  a  very  positive 
sound. 

Pinkie  eagerly  scanned  the  street  in  hope  of  discover 
ing  a  passer-by  into  whose  ears  she  might  pour  an  inci 
dent  so  scandalous.  But  no  one  appeared  in  the  silent 
street  save  Empty  Ned,  the  village  half-wit.  Vexation 
at  the  sight  of  no  better  confidant  made  her  thus  vic 
timize  the  unfortunate: 

"Well,  Ned,  what  do  you  think  I  dreamed  last  night  ? 
That  you  were  dead." 

Empty  Ned  had  on  an  old  fur  cap  and  wore  as  usual 
a  nosegay — a  bunch  of  sweet-williams — pinned  against 
his  ragged  coat.  He  blinked  at  Miss  Pinkie  with  child 
like  blue  eyes,  his  head  on  one  side  and  the  fingers  of 
his  two  hands  working  the  air  as  if  he  pressed  the  stops 
of  an  invisible  flute.  He  had  paused  to  tell  the  time- 
worn  news  that  he  was  leaving  Dunkirk  to  be  married, 
but  would  return  by  Sunday  next  to  pump  the  asthmatic 
organ  at  the  little  Church  on  the  Hill^  as  the  Episcopal 
chapel  was  called. 

"Did  they  bury  me  from  the  church  ?"  he  asked  with 
anxiety. 

"No,  they  didn't,"  was  the  cruel  reply. 

The  tears  of  the  half-wit  began  to  flow.  "Oh,  I  hoped 
I'd  be  buried  from  the  church !"  he  said  sobbingly.  "I 
wanted  to  be  buried  from  the  church !" 

Pinkie  had  touched  a  sore  spot  in  the  soul  of  Empty 
Ned.  For  years  he  had  pleaded  with  the  different  rectors 
of  the  Episcopalians  at  Dunkirk  to  recommend  his  con 
firmation,  and  had  been  refused  on  grounds  of  his  irre 
sponsibility.  When  the  bishop  made  his  annual  visit  to 
Dunkirk  Empty  Ned  never  failed  to  pay  him  a  formal 


STEEETS    OF   ASKALON  177 

call,  carrying  a  fan,  although  it  might  be  mid-winter, 
and  wearing  white  cotton  gloves  too  long  in  the  fingers. 
On  Communion  Sundays,  seated  in  the  organ  loft,  the 
half-wit,  perhaps  holding  his  prayer-book  upside  down, 
could  be  seen  forlornly  weeping  while  privileged  others 
knelt  at  the  chancel  rail.  Never  Dives  from  the  depths 
of  torment  longed  for  the  bosom  of  Abraham  as 
the  half-wit  for  the  white  heights  of  sanctification, 
where  in  a  haze  of  glory  he  saw  the  bowed  figures  of 
Pinkie  herself,  her  mother,  Miss  Eudocia,  Mr.  Blair 
Nandine,  the  county  judge,  and  the  rest  of  the  congre 
gation — all  save  himself.  So  tears  continued  to  wet  his 
cheeks  until,  awakened  to  his  duties,  Empty  Ned  la 
bored  again  at  the  organ  while  the  choir  sang:  "Lord, 
dismiss  us  with  Thy  blessing." 

"Don't  cry !"  Pinkie  said  hastily,  seeing  the  effect  of 
her  words.  "Dreams  go  by  contraries,  Ned,  so  you'll 
have  a  church  funeral  after  all." 

"You're  sure?"  The  face  suddenly  became  radiant. 
Empty  Ned  broke  into  his  sad,  silly  laugh  and  clapped 
his  hands.  "You're  sure?  Then  I'm  going  off  right 
away  to  tell  everybody."  He  departed  with  his  strange, 
half-dancing  gait.  At  that  moment  Mr.  Donovan  ap 
peared  at  the  door  and  seeing  him  called  him  back.  The 
rector's  face  still  showed  marks  of  excitement. 

"Ned,"  he  said,  in  an  undertone  so  Pinkie  might  not 
hear;  "take  this  out  to  Mr.  Joshua  Sandwith's  house 
and  give  it  to  Miss  Harmony.  And  don't  loiter  on  the 
way.  It  is  a  very  important  letter." 

Empty  Ned  went  off  with  the  air  of  a  papal  nuncio. 
Among  the  rectors  of  "his"  church,  as  he  called  it,  none 
had  been  kinder  than  Mr.  Donovan,  who  had  promised 


178  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

him  that  when  next  the  bishop  came  to  Dunkirk  he  too 
would  receive  his  confirmation  blessing.  Joyfully  he  felt 
in  his  pocket  for  the  remaining  sweetmeats  a  grocer  had 
given  him  that  morning  and  munching  these  he  went 
quickly  on  his  mission. 

Empty  Ned  was  one  of  Mr.  Donovan's  most  ardent 
admirers,  but  the  young  clergyman,  although  he  had 
been  in  Dunkirk  only  one  year,  had  won  popularity 
both  within  and  without  his  parish.  His  congregation 
was  neither  numerous  nor  rich  and  his  little  church,  or 
rather  chapel,  was  the  smallest  house  of  worship  in 
Dunkirk.  This  stood  half-way  up  "Jail  Hill,"  as  though 
it  had  stopped  short  in  its  effort  to  reach  a  rocky  height 
equal  to  that  occupied  by  its  proud  rival,  the  Eeformed 
Presbyterian.  Mr.  Donovan's  circuit  was  as  extensive 
as  his  church  was  small.  He  was  the  only  Episcopal 
clergyman  for  many  miles  around  and  none  could  have 
been  more  zealous  in  the  pursuit  of  his  duties.  Work 
among  the  wood-cutters  and  charcoal-burners  in  the 
mountain  regions  and  lonely  valleys  of  the  county  took 
him  on  rides  as  lengthy  and  arduous  as  those  of  old 
Doctor  Proudfoot,  his  friend  and  companion  on  many 
a  mission  to  sufferers  in  body  and  soul. 

When  Empty  Ned  plied  the  knocker  at  Burnham, 
Hecla  was  crossing  the  hall.  Mr.  Sandwith  had  come 
home  in  a  state  bordering  on  apoplexy,  accusing  Mr. 
Donovan  of  insulting  conduct  toward  him.  It  was 
characteristic  of  Hecla's  worship  of  her  father  that  she 
never  doubted  his  judgment  of  facts.  She  was  therefore 
convinced  that  the  rector  was  wholly  to  blame  in  the 
quarrel,  and  her  distress  over  the  peril  to  Mr.  Sand- 
with's  health  still  filled  her  with  indignation. 


STREETS    OF   ASKALON 

"I  got  a  letter  for  Miss  Harmony/'  Empty  Ned  an 
nounced  when  Hecla  opened  the  door. 

"Give  it  to  me/'  she  said. 

"It's  for  Miss  Harmony,"  Empty  Ned  reiterated, 
handing  her  the  letter ;  "he  told  me  to  bring  it." 

"Whom  do  you  mean  by  'he'  ?" 

"Why,  the  rector  of  my  church,  of  course !" 

"Mr.  Donovan !"  Hecla  whitened  with  anger.  "Then 
take  it  back  to  him  at  once !" 

That  the  rector  should,  under  the  present  circum 
stances,  write  to  her  sister  seemed  to  her  gross  imperti 
nence,  and  she  could  not  conceive  of  Harmony's  wishing 
to  receive  the  letter. 

Empty  Ned  shook  his  foolish  smiling  face. 

"I  tell  you  you  must  take  this  back  to  Mr.  Donovan !" 

The  half-wit  put  his  hands  behind  his  back  in  re 
fusal,  then  as  Hecla  looked  at  him  in  helpless  irritation, 
he  gave  her  another  smile  and  ran  off  down  the  path 
with  fantastic  skipping  steps. 

As  Hecla  closed  the  door  she  heard  her  father  coming 
down  the  stairs.  Fearing  the  sight  of  Mr.  Donovan's 
letter  would  provoke  him  to  a  new  fit  of  choler  she 
passed  hastily  into  the  sitting-room  and  dropped  the 
letter  into  her  writing-desk. 

In  the  meantime  Miss  Pinkie  Tathem  waiting  on  the 
doorstep  for  passers-by  had  found  listeners  more  ap 
preciative  of  scandal  than  Empty  Ned,  and  she  could 
confidently  say  that  by  evening  half  the  town  was  dis 
cussing  her  own  special  version  of  the  quarrel  between 
the  iron-master  and  Mr.  Donovan. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

I  AM   NO   STEONGEE  THAN   MY   SEX 

Wentworth  secured  the  nomination  for  the  office  of 
county  treasurer.  Joshua  Sandwith  canvassed  energeti 
cally  for  his  nephew  and  his  party  at  large.  The  Demo 
crats  had  shown  that  they  intended  to  win  by  fair  means 
or  foul,  and  the  bribery  and  corruption  of  the  campaign 
had  scarcely  ever  been  excelled.  When  the  chairman  of 
the  Republican  committee  said  to  the  iron-master: 
"Funds  will  have  to  be  spent  freely,  Mr.  Sandwith,  if 
we  expect  to  get  the  better  of  our  enemies/'  the  reply 
had  been :  "Well,  thee  knows  I  do  not  approve  of  money 
being  spent  on  elections,  but  if  the  other  side  is  spend 
ing  it  thee  can  count  on  my  subscription.  The  right 
party  must  gain  the  day."  Hecla  had  shared  her  father's 
interest  in  the  campaign.  She  and  Hetty  Wain  drove 
around  to  the  outlying  farm-houses  and  endeavored  to 
gain  votes  for  Wentworth  Oliver.  Thus,  though  she 
and  her  cousin  were  separated,  she  had  the  satisfaction 
of  feeling  she  was  working  for  him  and  furthering  his 
ambitions.  The  fact  that  she  could  do  something  for 
him  without  breaking  her  resolution  not  to  see  him  was 
a  source  of  much  secret  happiness  to  her. 

As  the  days  passed  the  Saturday-night  fights  between 
Dave  Sandwith's  workmen  and  the  "Corkonians"  em- 

180 


I  AM  NO  STRONGER  THAN  MY  SEX     181 

ployed  on  the  Dunkirk  branch  of  the  Pennsylvania  and 
Erie  Canal  became  more  notorious.  This  warfare  of 
stones  and  shillalahs  was  waged  in  front  of  the  rival  sa 
loons  of  "Sal"  Dickson  and  "Biddy"  Landrigan,  which 
stood  on  the  Big  Road  facing  the  Friends'  Meeting 
House.  Sal  Dickson's  husband,  a  blacksmith,  had 
ruined  himself  at  Biddy  Landrigan's  and  on  his  de 
cease,  his  widow,  turning  the  shop  into  a  saloon,  vowed 
she  would  put  the  Irishwoman  out  of  business.  The 
iron-workers  were  patrons  of  Sal  Dickson's  and  the 
canal-diggers  quenched  their  thirst  at  her  neighbor's. 
Christy  Pickle  was  kept  busy  leading  Mog  home  by  the 
ear  in  these  encounters.  The  jigger-boss,  aided  by  the 
Lord,  as  he  maintained,  had  on  several  occasions  used 
his  crutch  "to  chastise  the  weekid  that  cumbered  the 
earth."  As  for  Archy  McSwords,  his  fondness  for  mix 
ing  in  these  Saturday-night  melees  had  reduced  his 
Mexican  regimentals  to  rags. 

At  last  the  day  before  the  state  elections  arrived,  and 
the  carrying  of  Pennsylvania  by  the  Democratic  party 
would  virtually  decide  the  presidential  elections  in  No 
vember.  Wentworth  Oliver  had  won  distinction  by  his 
stump  speeches  in  favor  of  Fremont,  and  Joshua  Sand- 
with's  old  workmen  and  mule  teams  had  scoured  the 
county,  organizing  mass  meetings  even  in  that  obdurate 
Democratic  stronghold,  Dutch  Valley.  The  Republicans 
were  now  trusting  to  the  exhilarating  effect  of  a  grand 
street-parade  at  Dunkirk,  much  money  and  thought 
having  been  spent  on  this  demonstration  that  it  might 
surpass  everything  of  the  kind  which  hitherto  had  taken 
place  in  the  county. 

From    daybreak    the    roads   to    Dunkirk    had    been 


182  HECLA    SANDWITH 

crowded  with  rustic  vehicles  and  the  streets  of  the  town 
now  surged  with  spectators  from  the  entire  country 
side.  Seldom  had  the  town  been  the  scene  of  such  ex 
citement.  The  Eed  Lion  Inn  and  the  saloons  collected 
together  at  what  was  known  as  "Strychnine  Corner" 
were  doing  a  thriving  business  over  the  bar,  which  mani 
fested  itself  in  street  rowdyism.  Peter  Waddles,  the 
old  Democratic  sheriff,  and  his  deputies  showed  their 
devotion  to  their  party  by  arresting  as  many  Republi 
cans  engaged  in  drunken  brawls  as  possible.  A  number 
of  the  iron-workers  had  been  locked  up  in  the  jail  and 
Joshua  Sandwith  had  vainly  striven  to  effect  their  re 
lease  on  bail  that  they  might  vote  on  the  morrow. 

The  songs  and  humors  of  the  campaign  added  to  the 
entertainment  of  the  expectant  crowd.  Shouts  of  "Buck 
and  Breck"  were  answered  by  the  "staccato  cheer"  of 
Fremonters  and  cries  of  "Down  with  the  cut-throat 
Bucaneers,"  "Boo-Cannon,"  "Free  Speech,  Free  Press, 
Free  Soil,"  "We'll  give  'em  Jessie  when  we  rally  round 
the  polls."  Parties  of  young  men  waving  hats  and  canes 
jostled  more  sober  citizens  as  they  sang: 

"There's  an  old  Gray  Horse,  whose  name  is  Buck, 

Du  da,  du  da; 

His  dam  was  folly  and  his  sire  bad  luck, 
Du  da,  du  da  da," 

to  the  tune  of  Camptown  Races.  Allusions  to  Buchan 
an's  "ten-cent  wages"  clashed  with  accusations  that 
Fremont  was  in  league  with  the  pope.  And  so  the 
gamut  of  political  ridicule  and  buffoonery  was  run. 

The  procession  was  to  take  place  at  eleven  o'clock  in 
the  morning  and  afterward  there  were  to  be  open-air 


I  AM  NO  STRONGER  TIIAX  MY  SEX     183 

speeches  on  the  Diamond.  Hecla  had  gone  into  town 
early  to  see  the  parade  from  her  cousin  Jane  Hamilton's 
steps.  Here  she  found  a  number  of  her  friends,  among 
whom  were  Richard  Hallett  and  Rhoda  Markham,  who 
was  paying  Jane  a  visit.  Hecla  was  far  from  being  in 
good  spirits.  She  dreaded  the  effect  of  the  day's  demon 
strations  on  her  father,  whose  campaign  activities  she 
had  been  unable  to  check ;  and  she  also  feared  that  Dave, 
whom  she  caught  sight  of  in  the  thick  of  the  most  dis 
orderly  crowd,  would  get  into  trouble. 

A  blare  of  discordant  brass  music  announced  the  com 
ing  of  the  procession,  and  Hecla  with  a  tightening  of 
the  heart  saw  Wentworth  ride  by  with  the  other  candi 
dates.  Then  came  the  old  Battalion  Day  companies  in 
their  motley  uniforms;  after  these  a  personified  Fre 
mont  in  pioneer  costume  on  a  .white  horse,  conducted 
by  Indian  scouts  and  followed  by  a  sturdy  band  of 
backwoodsmen  shouldering  axes ;  floats  representing  the 
allegorical  figure  of  Kansas,  stricken  down  by  a  red- 
shirtcd  Missouri  rough;  an  auction  block  with  a  kneel 
ing  mother  begging  for  her  child;  the  planter  Legree 
and  Uncle  Tom;  then  an  unsteady  hay-wagon  trimmed 
with  pine  branches  and  holding  children  dressed  as  the 
states  of  the  Union ;  and  farmers'  buxom  daughters  on 
plump  plow-horses,  and  fife  and  drum  corps  that 
pierced  the  air  with  their  shrill  notes. 

After  Wentworth  had  passed  Hecla  paid  little  heed 
to  the  parade  until  her  father  and  his  workmen  ap 
peared.  The  procession  had  already  reached  the  Dia 
mond  and  the  political  candidates  had  ranged  them 
selves  in  line  to  review  the  passing  troops,  when  she 
caught  sight  of  Mr.  Sandwith  seated  beside  Archy  Me- 


184  HECLA    SANDWITH 

Swords  in  the  first  ore-wagon.  Relieved  that  he  seemed 
well  and  in  good  spirits  she  joined  the  others  on  the 
doorstep  in  waving  her  handkerchief. 

As  the  team  passed  on,  followed  by  the  others  filled 
with  the  Sandwith  workmen,  suddenly  from  the  crowd 
came  a  fusillade  of  stones,  cabbage-stalks  and  other 
missiles,  and  the  air  was  filled  with  hoots  and  catcalls. 
The  workmen,  recognizing  their  enemies,  the  canal- 
diggers,  scrambled  over  the  sides  of  the  wagons.  The 
skittish  mules  took  fright,  and  the  next  moment  the 
street  was  a  scene  of  riot.  A  stone  struck  a  pane  in  one 
of  Mrs.  Hamilton's  parlor  windows.  Jane,  Ehoda 
Markham  and  Hetty  in  alarm  hastily  retreated  up 
stairs,  leaving  Hecla  and  Richard  Hallett  alone  on  the 
doorstep. 

Hecla,  regardless  of  the  flying  stones,  had  her  eyes 
fixed  on  Mr.  Sandwith  who,  deserted  by  Archy  Mc- 
Swords,  was  endeavoring  to  restrain  the  mules  from 
dashing  up  the  street. 

"Help  my  father,"  she  cried  to  Hallett,  'Tie  will  be 
killed." 

"Go  inside,"  the  Englishman  ordered  and  then  shoul 
dered  his  way  into  the  struggling,  panic-stricken  crowd. 

Hecla  ran  to  the  parlor  window  and  breathlessly 
watched  him  on  his  way  to  her  father's  aid.  She  saw 
him  take  the  head  mule  by  the  bit  and  hold  back  the 
team  until  Archy,  seeing  Mr.  Sandwith's  plight,  struck 
down  his  assailant  and  once  more  clambered  back  into 
his  seat  and  seized  the  reins.  Hecla  sighed  with  relief 
as  she  watched  the  team  pass  on  briskly  up  the  street. 

But  her  relief  was  short-lived.  Wentworth,  with  the 
marshal  and  several  others  at  the  head  of  the  procession, 


I  AM  NO  STRONGER  THAN  MY  SEX     185 

seeing  the  melee,  had  ridden  back,  and  Hecla,  almost  im 
mediately  on  catching  sight  of  him,  saw  him  fall  from 
his  horse,  struck  on  the  head  by  a  stone.  Richard  Hal- 
lett  was  one  of  those  who  went  to  his  assistance. 

At  the  sight  Hecla  almost  lost  consciousness.  She 
leaned  against  the  casement  while  dimly  on  her  ear 
above  the  oaths  and  screams  of  women  came  the  solemn 
tolling  of  a  bell.  The  tolling  came  from  the  Little 
Church  on  the  Hill,  where  Empty  Ned,  obedient  to  or 
ders  from  the  Democrats,  was  pulling  the  belfry  rope. 

Presently  the  parlor  door  was  thrust  open  and  the 
Englishman  and  two  of  Mr.  Sandwith's  workmen  en 
tered,  carrying  the  limp  body  of  Wentworth  Oliver. 
"Do  what  you  can  for  him,"  Hallett  said  to  her ;  "I  shall 
try  to  fetch  Doctor  Proudfoot."  Then  as  they  were 
turning  away  he  added :  "Your  father  is  safe." 

Hecla,  left  alone  with  her  cousin's  unconscious  body, 
approached  the  sofa  where  it  had  been  placed  and  fell 
on  her  knees.  She  had  no  belief  but  that  he  was  dead. 
Fate  had  planned  this  deed  that  she  might  suffer  all 
the  anguish  of  losing  him  for  ever. 

"Wentworth,"  she  whispered. 

Her  gaze  fastened  on  the  closed  lids  and  mouth  that 
drooped  as  if  in  disdain  of  life's  drama,  its  brevity  and 
emptiness.  A  sudden  weariness  of  struggle  came  over 
her  and  she  put  her  arms  about  his  head  while  her  lips 
fell  against  his  breast. 

She  seemed  to  sink  with  him  into  the  dark  under 
world  of  death. 

Outside  the  window  the  confusion  waged,  and  over  it 
all  came  the  distant  tolling  bell,  mocking  and  measur 
ing  the  fleeting  things  of  life. 


186  HECLA   SANDWITH 

"When  consciousness  came  back  to  her  she  was  in 
Wentworth's  arms  and  he  was  chafing  her  temples. 

"Hecla,"  he  was  saying,  "do  you  know  me  ?" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  murmured,  "it  is  you — Went 
worth." 

And  wearily,  with  content,  she  let  her  cheek  fall 
once  more  against  his  breast. 

"Hecla,"  he  asked,  smoothing  her  hair,  "what  was  it  ? 
What  made  you  faint  ?" 

"It  was  you/'  she  answered,  still  like  one  in  a  dream ; 
"because  I  thought  you  were  killed.  0  Wentworth, 
Wentworth,  if  anything  had  happened  to  you !" 

"And  you  cared — }TOU  found  you  cared  that  much  ?" 

"Yes,  I  cared  that  much." 

"You  love  me,  Hecla,  after  all!"  The  joy  of  it 
choked  his  voice. 

"Yes,  I  love  you,  Wentworth.  I  love  you — I  have  al 
ways  loved  you,  always,  always.  I  know  it  now,"  she 
went  on  softly.  "I  knew  it  when  they  brought  you  in, 
dead  as  I  thought — dead.  0  Wentworth,  Wentworth !" 

"Hecla,"  he  exclaimed,  his  lips  against  her  hair, 
"Hecla." 

"Oh,  the  pain,  the  pain  of  the  last  few  weeks,  the 
misery,  the  struggles  I  have  gone  through  !  What  suffer 
ing  not  to  see  you,  to  have  you  away  from  me.  Tell  me 
you  care  for  me — tell  me,  Wentworth !" 

"Can  you  doubt  it,  Hecla?  Haven't  I  loved  you  all 
my  life  ?  Have  I  ever  loved  any  one  but  you  ?  What  do 
you  think  my  suffering  has  been  all  these  weeks?  Do 
you  suppose  I  found  it  easy  to  keep  away  from  you — 
that  I  have  not  had  my  struggle,  too?  If  it  had  not 
been  for  my  promise  to  Uncle  Joshua!  But  he  will 


I  AM  NO  STRONGER  THAN  MY  SEX     187 

forgive  me,  Hecla.  He  will  understand;  he  won't  op 
pose  our  loving  each  other  when  he  knows  how  much  we 
care.  Hecla,  Hecla,  what  happiness  this  day  has  brought 
me!"  He  had  gathered  her  closer  to  his  breast  and  he 
was  kissing  her  now  on  her  eyes  and  mouth,  kissing  her 
with  all  the  hunger  of  passion  long  unsatisfied. 

For  a  moment  only  she  yielded  to  his  embrace,  let  his 
emotion  claim  its  right  upon  her  own  answering  lips. 
Then  suddenly  pierced  with  the  sharp  sense  of  her 
awakening,  she  struggled  to  free  herself;  her  strange 
eyes  meeting  his  with  all  their  blight  reborn  in  them — 
the  somber  look  that  seemed  to  invite  the  tragedies  of 
life. 

"Oh,  this  is  madness !"  she  breathed.  "I  have  for 
gotten — forgotten  everything.  Wentworth,  it  is  my 
fault.  It's  I  who  am  guilty.  Forgive  me,  Wentworth, 
for  making  you  break  your  promises.  Ah,  what  would 
my  father  say,  what  would  he  think  of  me — me  whom 
he  trusted  !  Wentworth,  I  am  ashamed,  ashamed!"  And 
she  pressed  her  palms  upon  her  eyes.  "I  feel  as  if  I  had 
just  awakened  out  of  a  dream.  I  don't  know  myself.  It 
hasn't  been  my  real  nature  that  has  acted  so.  Went 
worth,  forget  what  has  happened.  You  should  be  true  to 
your  best  self.  You  must  not  love  me — we  must  not  love 
each  other.  Ah,  how  weak  I've  been — I  who  should  be 
strong !" 

"It  is  too  late,  Hecla.  You  can  not  deny  me  your 
love.  We  were  destined  for  each  other.  Nothing  can — 
nothing  shall  separate  us.  We  shall  win  your  father's 
consent,  do  not  fear !" 

"It  is  not  too  late.  It  is  never  too  late  to  do  what  is 
right.  My  father— Wentworth,  do  you  think  I  should 


188  HECEA    SANDWITH 

ever  try  to  persuade  him  to  act  against  his  conscience, 
his  own  convictions  ?  I  revere  him  and  his  feelings  too 
much.  Ko,  I  shall  never  do  it ;  never  so  rob  him  of  his 
own  respect !" 

"It's  only  a  prejudice,  Hecla,  what  Uncle  Joshua  feels 
about  our  loving  each  other.  Would  you  sacrifice  our 
love  for  a  mere  prejudice  ?" 

"A  prejudice?  It  may  be.  I  can  not  tell/'  she  said 
dully,  her  face  still  pressed  upon  her  palms.  "I  only 
know  that  it  keeps  us  apart — that  it  must  always  keep 
us  apart !" 

Then  it  was  that  Mrs.  Hamilton  and  the  others  en 
tered  the  parlor. 


CHAPTEE  XVII 

TWO  DAUGHTERS   OF   ONE  MOTHER 

The  elections  were  over  and  Wentworth  had  won  his 
office.  The  wound  received  in  the  street  riot  on  the  day 
of  the  parade  and  the  rumor  which  spread  that  the  at 
tack  on  him  was  premeditated  had  greatly  helped  his 
cause.  He  had  been  able  the  night  following  his  acci 
dent  to  appear  at  a  mass-meeting,  where  he  delivered 
one  of  the  most  successful  speeches  of  the  campaign, 
and  he  had  been  one  of  the  few  Eepublicans  elected  in 
the  county  the  next  day. 

Hecla  had  been  confined  to  bed  for  a  day  as  the  result 
of  the  shock  she  had  received.  Her  confession  of  love 
made  to  Wentworth  after  her  faint  caused  her  infinite 
suffering.  All  that  had  been  gained  during  the  previ 
ous  months,  when  Wentworth  and  she  had  kept  apart, 
seemed  lost  through  the  weakness  she  had  shown  in 
Mrs.  Hamilton's  parlors.  She  could  not  doubt  now 
that  she  had  more  than  a  cousin's  regard  for  Wentworth. 
Her  recognition  of  the  fact  that  she  had  been  deceiving 
herself  had  the  effect  of  making  her  resolve  the  more 
firmly  to  avoid  her  cousin.  Again  she  fought  a  battle 
with  her  feelings  as  she  had  done  the  night  after  the 
ride  back  from  Moshannon  Hall,  when  she  had  gone  to 
her  room  and  burned  Wentworth's  letters,  with  the 

189 


190  HECLA    SANDWITH 

prophetic  phrases  of  the  whippoorwills  in  her  ears.  She 
told  herself  that  while  she  loved  her  cousin  her  emo 
tional  response  to  his  passion  the  day  of  the  parade 
had  been  less  love  than  sorrow  and  despair  at  seeing 
him  lying  apparently  dead  on  the  sofa ;  that  she  had  not 
been  herself  in  what  she  said  and  did.  And  thus  arguing 
with  her  heart  she  at  last  believed  that  she  had  con 
quered  her  love.  And  so  with  the  peace  that  came  to  her 
through  the  conviction,  she  took  up  the  routine  of  her 
quiet  life. 

It  was  after  this  that  she  had  occasion  one  day  to 
use  the  neglected  secretary  in  the  sitting-room.  As  she 
turned  the  key  in  the  brass  scutcheoned  lock  with  its 
olive-bearing  dove  and  the  legend  "Peace",  the  memory 
of  Mr.  Donovan's  letter  she  had  placed  there  came  back 
to  her.  She  was  astonished  that  she  could  have  forgot 
ten  the  visit  of  Empty  Ned  and  the  note  for  Harmony 
which  had  so  filled  her  with  indignation  against  its 
sender.  Hecla  felt  deeply  remorseful  that  she  had  never 
mentioned  the  matter  to  her  sister.  Still,  there  had 
been  some  excuse  for  her  forgetfulness.  Her  father  had 
been  ill  as  a  consequence  of  his  choler  that  day,  and 
following  that  had  come  the  announcement  of  "Went- 
worth's  nomination,  which  had  thrown  him  into  an 
other  state  of  excitement  continuing  through  the  entire 
campaign.  Hecla  had  been  in  such  continued  anxiety 
about  him  that  the  incident  of  the  letter  had  been 
driven  from  her  mind. 

She  now  took  the  letter  from  the  desk  with  much 
the  same  feeling  of  repugnance  as  when  Empty  Ned 
handed  it  to  her,  and  went  at  once  to  Harmony's  bed 
room.  At  her  light  knock  Harmony  opened  the  door 


TWO  DAUGHTERS  OF  ONE  MOTHER  191 

with  a  look  of  surprise,  it  was  so  seldom  any  one  in 
truded  on  her  privacy  there. 

"Were  you  lying  down,  Harmony  ?" 

"jSTo.  Will  you  come  in?"  She  said  this  with  some 
reluctance. 

Hecla,  as  she  entered,  glanced  around  the  room  and 
noticing  no  evidence  of  Harmony's  having  been  em 
ployed  she  wondered,  as  she  had  often  done  before,  how 
her  stepsister  spent  her  time  shut  in  her  room.  Were 
her  hours  devoted  entirely  to  prayer  and  meditation  ? 

Harmony  stood  with  her  back  to  the  amber  light  of 
autumn  that  stole  richly  through  the  curtained  window 
into  her  bare  cell-like  chamber,  white,  fragrant,  like 
Harmony  herself.  Her  warm  brown  hair — the  heavy 
hair  which,  according  to  Hetty,  "took  her  strength" — 
hung  about  her  like  a  nun's  veil. 

"Harmony,"  Hecla  said  with  embarrassment  and  re 
gret,  "here  is  a  letter  for  you.  It  came  the  day  Mr. 
Donovan  so  grossly  insulted  father.  It  is  from  him." 

At  the  name  of  the  young  rector  Harmony's  face 
showed  a  quick  shadow  of  pain.  Hecla  did  not  notice 
what  a  pale  resigned  figure  it  was  standing  before  her; 
she  was  too  accustomed  to  her  sister's  meek  silent  way 
to  be  struck  by  the  sadness  in  her  expression  to-day. 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Harmony,  that  I  forgot  about  the 
letter.  You  know  how  ill  father  was  that  day.  I  am  not 
trying  to  excuse  myself,  but  merely  stating  how  it  hap 
pened  I  did  not  speak  of  it  at  once.  I  suppose  the  letter 
is  an  apology  for  Mr.  Donovan's  treatment  of  father. 
Of  course  you  would  not  have  wished  to  accept  it,  and 
in  not  accepting  it  you  put  an  end  to  an  acquaintance 
which  you  know  was  a  mistake." 


192  HECLA   BANDWITH 

Harmony  took  the  letter  Hecla  held  out  to  her.  Her 
face  had  suddenly  grown  so  pale  that  her  sister  said 
concernedly:  "Harmony,  why  do  you  look  so  strange? 
Are  you  feeling  faint?" 

"A  little,  perhaps/'  was  the  vague  answer,  and  Har 
mony  sat  down  by  the  window  with  her  face  turned 
from  her  sister. 

"Let  me  get  you  my  lavender  water."  And  Hecla 
hastily  left  the  room. 

When  she  returned  she  paused  at  the  door  in  indig 
nant  surprise  at  what  she  saw.  Harmony  had  opened 
the  letter  and,  with  face  bent  over  the  sheet,  was  read 
ing  the  last  lines.  Before  Hecla  could  speak  she  let  the 
letter  fall,  and  burying  her  face  on  the  window-sill, 
broke  into  tears.  Hecla  went  over  to  her,  saying  sympa 
thetically:  "What  is  it?  Has  he  insulted  you,  too?" 

There  was  no  answer,  only  convulsive  sobbing 
breaths. 

"Tell  me,  Harmony,  what  is  the  matter?"  And 
Hecla  laid  her  hand  gently  on  the  other's  arm. 

Harmony  passionately  thrust  away  the  caressing 
touch,  and  Hecla  stood  a  moment  mute  with  astonish 
ment.  Then  her  sister  raised  her  face  and  she  was 
shocked  at  the  change  in  it.  All  the  accustomed  mild 
ness  was  gone,  and  instead  Hecla  beheld  an  expression 
of  anger  and  outrage  she  had  never  seen  it  wear. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  strangely,  Harmony?" 
Hecla  exclaimed.  Then:  "What  made  you  read  the 
letter?  I  knew  him  capable  of  insulting  even  a  woman." 

"You  think  he  has  insulted  me  ?" 

Hecla  could  hardly  believe  it  was  Harmony's  voice 
that  she  heard. 


TWO  DAUGHTERS  OF  ONE  MOTHER  193 

"I  have  reason  to  think  so  after  he  insulted  our 
father." 

"He  did  not  insult  our  father !" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  Hecla  spoke  in  omi 
nously  quiet  tones. 

"Our  father  insulted  him  I" 

"You  prefer,  then,  to  believe  him  rather  than  your 
own  father  ?" 

"I  believe  what  is  true  I" 

Hecla's  passionate  look  matched  her  sister's. 

"Yon  forget  yourself.  How  dare  you  accuse  our 
father  of  not  speaking  the  truth !" 

"He  was  in  the  wrong  I" 

"My  father  in  the  wrong!"  Hecla's  voice  expressed 
the  concentration  of  her  whole  nature:  family  pride, 
prejudice,  the  religion  of  filial  love.  She  was  astounded 
at  this  attack  from  Plarmony,  invariably  pliant,  hum 
ble,  sweet. 

"Your  father!"  Harmony  caught  up  the  cutting 
stress  of  the  pronoun.  "Yes,  he  is  your  father  and  not 
mine.  Add  that  I  am  only  a  half-sister;  that  this  is 
your  home,  and  that  I  have  no  right  in  it  except  as  one 
on  sufferance !  Have  I  not  felt  it  all — though  we  had  the 
same  mother?  Have  you  not  always  asserted  dominion 
over  me  because  you  hold  a  superior  place  in  the  house 
hold?  Have  you  not  dictated,  called  me  to  account  for 
my  actions,  slighted,  insulted  me?  Now  you  have  in 
terfered  with  my  most  sacred  affairs.  It  is  the  second 
time  you  have  done  so !"  As  she  ceased  she  reached 
down  and  picked  up  the  letter  from  the  floor. 

"Yon  mean  the  letter,  Harmony  ?" 

Hecla  spoke  as  from  across  a  gulf  that  suddenly 


194  HECLA   S'ANDWITH 

divided  her  stepsister  and  herself.  Nothing  had  ever 
before  brought  this  sharp  realization  of  blood  differ 
ence.  The  gravity  of  the  thing  wrung  the  anger  out  of 
her  voice. 

"How  could  you  ?  Had  you  no  pity,  no  kindness  ?" 

"You  are  unjust,  Harmony.  I  told  you  how  it  hap 
pened.  How  much  better  if  you  had  never  seen  the  let 
ter  !  It  would  have  spared  you  pain." 

"Spared  me  pain!"  The  wretchedness  of  the  cry  re 
vealed  to  Hecla  the  secret  of  Harmony's  secluded  weeks. 
She  could  not  repress  her  surprise. 

"Then  you  love  him !" 

In  spite  of  Harmony's  outburst  she  could  scarce 
credit  her  sister  with  sentiments  for  one  who  had  com 
mitted  what  she  believed  to  be  an  unforgivable  offense 
against  her  father.  After  a  proud  pause  she  added :  "I 
have  no  wish,  Harmony,  to  govern  your  actions,  as  you 
imagine;  I  am  very  sorry  I  forgot  to  give  you  the  let 
ter.  Indeed,  I  am  sorry,  Harmony." 

"What  good  can  your  sorrow  do?  Can  that  help  or 
heal  my  life  ?  I  feel  I  hate  you  for  what  you  have  done. 
And  with  this  hatred  in  my  heart — "  She  stopped; 
when  she  spoke  again  her  face  was  old  with  anguish. 
"Oh,  I  have  lost  my  way  through  you — the  path  I  strug 
gled  to  keep  alone  without  help  from  God  or  man.  I 
dreamed  that  God  was  taking  pity  on  my  prayers  and 
leading  me  to  Him.  I  waited  for  this  letter.  I  thought 
it  must  come  to  prove  that  he  had  not  wilfully  insulted 
my  father — your  father.  I  said  I  need  not  give  up  a 
friendship  that  was  dear  to  me  if  he  regrets  the  quarrel, 
if  he  had  not  done  all  the  town  accuses  him  of  doing — " 

"He  denies  that  he  was  in  the  wrong?" 


TWO  DAUGHTERS  OF  ONE  MOTHER  193 

For  a  moment  Harmony  did  not  speak,  then  she  said 
in  a  low  voice :  "He  is  sorry  over  what  happened,  and 
he  asks  me  to  be  his  wife." 

"My  father  can  not  prevent  your  marrying  whom  you 
wish/' 

Harmony  passed  her  hands  over  her  eyes. 

"I  gave  him  up  in  the  weeks  of  waiting,"  she  said 
brokenly.  "I  gave  my  love  to  God  instead.  And  what  I 
gave  God  I  can  not  retract,  however  unworthy  the  offer 
ing.  But  why  do  I  speak  of  this  to  you,  Hecla?  You 
do  not  understand.  You  have  never  had  to  put  away 
your  heart's  desires." 

"We  are  nearer  than  you  think,"  was  Hecla's  answer. 
"I  have  had  my  own  bitterness,  my  own  renunciation. 
I  have  had  to  give  up  love  for  duty's  sake." 

"You !" 

The  surprise  in  her  sister's  tone  made  Hecla  realize 
how  often  those  who  are  nearest  to  us  are  wholly  ob 
livious  of  our  secret  tragedies. 

"I  have  gone  through  so  much,"  Harmony  went  on 
in  a  voice  of  dry  anguish.  "I  struggled.  I  had  my  bat 
tles.  I  put  love  aside.  I  thought  the  smoke  of  my 
burnt  sacrifice  would  reach  God.  I  have  no  hope  now. 
I  shall  be  encompassed  again  with  darkness — the  light 
has  died  out!  Some  day  I  may  regain  what  has  been 
lost  me  this  day,  by  prayer,  by  tears  and  penance.  Ah, 
Hecla,  you  have  taken  my  religion  from  me !" 

"Then  you  never  had  any,"  Hecla  cried  in  torture 
at  her  words.  "You  are  killing  me  with  your  injustice. 
How  can  you  say  such  things  to  me,  Harmony?  To 
tell  me  that  you  hate  me  when  I  have  thought  all  my  life 
of  your  happiness !" 


196  HECLA    SANDWITH 

"I  can  not  forgive  you,  Hecla;  I  can  not.  It  is  you 
who  have  caused  the  failure  of  my  life." 

"Harmony,  say  you  do  not  mean  such  cruel  things/' 
Hecla  implored  her. 

But  Harmony  did  not  answer.  Her  head  had  fallen 
again  on  her  bent  arm,  her  hair  veiling  her  tears. 

When  Hecla  reached  her  own  room  she  sat  down  on 
the  bed.  It  was  her  nature  to  fight  against  the  weak 
ness  of  tears,  b"ut  now  slowly  they  worked  their  way 
down  her  cheeks.  Nothing  like  the  scene  she  had  just 
lived  through  had  happened  before  in  the  family.  For 
a  while  she  forgot  the  astonishing  fact  of  Harmony's 
love  and  championship  of  Mr.  Donovan  in  the  blow 
dealt  her  sisterly  devotion.  She  had  been  accustomed 
to  consider  herself  the  protector  of  the  household.  Her 
father  had  relied  on  her  judgment  and  good  sense. 
She  could  hardly  credit  what  Harmony  had  said  and 
not  for  a  moment  did  she  accept  its  justice.  Whatever 
had  been  her  mistakes  they  had  been  mistakes  born  of 
extreme  solicitude.  If  she  had  not  met  emergencies, 
fought  family  battles,  who  would  have  done  so?  She 
had  considered  Harmony  particularly  in  need  of  her 
guardianship;  and  she  wondered  now  over  her  new 
assertive  spirit,  feeling  unconsciously  her  respect  for 
her  increase. 

She  was  aroused  from  her  mood  by  hearing  voices' 
that  came  through  the  open  window.  She  had  left  her 
father  lying  on  the  porch-seat  in  the  yellow  autumn 
sunshine,  comfortably  dozing,  his  wig  pulled  over  his 
nose  with  his  usual  contempt  for  appearances.  She 
rose  from  the  bed  and  looked  down  into  the  garden. 


TWO  DAUGHTERS  OF  ONE  MOTHER  197 

She  saw  Mr.  Sandwith  standing  on  the  front  steps,  as 
if  barring  the  house  to  an  ill-favored  stranger  in  a 
slouch  hat. 

•'No,  there  is  no  negro  here  by  that  name,"  she 
heard  her  father  say  in  tones  of  Roman  firmness. 

Hccla  instantly  divined  the  man  to  be  a  Southerner 
in  search  of  a  fugitive  slave  and  that  the  slave  was 
Noah,  the  coachman.  It  was  not  the  first  time  slave- 
hunters  had  come  to  the  house,  which,  with  character 
istic  Quaker  zeal,  the  iron-master  offered  as  an  asylum 
for  negro  refugees.  She  wondered  if  warning  had  been 
given  Noah.  Then  she  remembered  he  had  been  sent 
on  a  farm  errand  and  could  not  yet  have  returned. 
She  listened  anxiously. 

"You  sure  they  ain't  no  nigger  by  that  name  round 
here?  I  got  news  pretty  positive.  He's  an  old  nigger 
with  a  wen  on  his  forehead/' 

Ilecla  hung  on  her  father's  reply.  She  did  not  wish 
Noah's  capture,  nor  did  she  wish  her  father  to  lie. 
Harmony's  insinuation  that  her  father  had  not  spoken 
the  truth  about  the  quarrel  with  Mr.  Donovan  came  to 
mind,  and  it  was  a  relief  when  she  heard  him  answer: 

"There  is  no  negro  calling  himself  by  that  name  here, 
I  tell  thee !" 

It  was  what  Mr.  Sandwith  would  have  called  a  "ju 
dicious  reply."  The  iron-master  had  whimsically  given 
his  coachman  a  biblical  name  on  taking  him  into 
service,  and  Noah  had  readily  agreed  to  the  change. 
Some  altercation  followed,  but  the  man,  not  having  se 
cured  a  search-warrant  from  the  Dunkirk  sheriff,  finally 
went  off.  Hecla  crossed  to  a  side  window  and  curiously 
watched  him  depart.  The  family  factotum,  Karl,  was 


198  HECLA    SAXDW1TH 

coming  along  the  orchard  way,  a  handkerchief  spread 
over  his  beaver  for  fear  of  roosting  turkeys.  The  two 
men  met,  and  Hecla  at  once  suspected  that  Karl  would 
give  the  slave-hunter  the  information  he  sought.  She 
believed  the  German  was  revengeful  despite  the  child 
like  manner  that  imposed  on  her  father.  He  had  been 
for  the  last  few  days  "in  bad  smell,"  as  he  phrased  it, 
with  the  iron-master.  Karl  was,  in  fact,  returning 
from  town  with  a  sense  of  his  personal  injuries  swelled 
by  a  talk  with  Miss  Pinkie  Tathem  on  the  subject  of 
the  Sandwiths  and  their  failings.  Hecla  leaned  over 
the  balusters  and  called  to  Mr.  Sandwith : 

"Father,  Karl  is  in  the  orchard  talking  to  the  man 
who  is  after  Noah !" 

Mr.  Sandwith  stood  in  the  hall  winding  up  the  old 
Dutch  clock — an  act  he  performed  himself  with  great 
regularity,  being  of  the  belief  that  if  the  clock  ran 
down  misfortune  was  sure  to  befall  his  roof.  At  Hecla's 
words  he  hastily  seized  his  cane  and  left  the  house. 

Hecla,  regretting  her  imprudence,  hastily  ran  down 
the  stairs  and  reached  the  porch.  Karl  was  coming 
leisurely  on  his  way.  To  something  he  said  she  heard 
her  father  exclaim :  "Thee  lies !"  and  strike  him  with 
his  cane.  Karl  made  no  resistance  except  to  protest  in 
a  tearful  voice  as  the  blows  rained  down  upon  his 
shoulders.  Suddenly  the  cane  dropped  from  the  iron 
master's  hand  and  he  staggered  and  fell. 

With  a  cry  of  apprehension  Hecla  ran  and,  kneeling, 
looked  into  her  father's  face.  What  she  saw  there  told 
her  the  doctor's  fears  were  realized:  Mr.  Sandwith  in 
a  fit  of  rage  had  ruptured  a  blood-vessel  and  lay  uncon 
scious. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  MYSTERY   OF   TIME  AND  DISTANCE 

Little  Pitcher  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase  eating  a 
great  golden  pear.  He  had  climbed  to  the  attic  to  get  it, 
after  leaving  his  father's  bedroom,  where  all  the  family 
were  gathered.  Little  Pitcher  had  grown  weary  of  the 
sad  faces  and  low-toned  talk  and  had  stolen  away  un 
noticed.  For  a  week  his  father  had  lain  in  his  big  pos 
ter  bed,  his  face  pale  almost  as  the  pillow  and  a  yellow 
silk  nightcap  pulled  down  over  his  head  like  a  candle 
snuffer.  His  wardrobe  door  was  ajar,  and  Little  Pitcher 
had  seen  all  the  different  wigs  of  different  hues  he  wore 
hanging  on  pegs — a  kind  of  Bluebeard's  closet  to  the 
child's  wondering  fancy.  Without  any  of  these  red, 
brown  or  black  wigs  his  father  looked  strange  and  old 
to  him.  But  everything  had  been  strange  these  last 
few  days.  So  many  people  had  come  and  gone — towns 
people,  country-folk,  his  father's  workmen.  And  in  the 
kitchen  now  the  terrible  old  woman,  Christy  Pickle,  sat 
waiting.  "Waiting  for  what  ? 

Little  Pitcher  might  have  felt  lonely  and  neglected 
had  he  not  been  accustomed  to  being  by  himself  and 
finding  entertainment  in  his  own  ideas. 

He  was  thinking  now  of  his  next  First  Day  sermon. 
Little  Pitcher  was  fond  of  playing  Friends'  Meeting 

199 


200  HECLA   SANDWITII 

on  First  Day  afternoons  in  the  sewing-room  with  Molly 
Tucker,  the  old  family  servant.  He  preferred  to  medi 
tate  over  his  sermons  in  advance  in  spite  of  his  father's 
telling  him  Friends  were  moved  by  the  Spirit  when 
they  preached.  His  sermons  were  on  a  great  number  of 
subjects;  but  he  was  partial  to  the  theme  of  intemper 
ance.  He  had  once  heard  "Old  Man  Hunt,"  as  he  was 
called,  a  hunchback  who  spoke  at  the  court-house  to 
excited  audiences,  and  his  mind  had  since  been  filled 
with  the  horror  of  drink.  Intemperance  meant  to  Lit 
tle  Pitcher  the  picture  of  a  huge  red  goblet,  out  of 
which  a  green  serpent  raised  a  writhing  head.  Old  Man 
Hunt  had  pointed  to  this  with  a  long  shaking  fore 
finger  as  he  delivered  his  address.  And  it  was  with  all 
the  vigor  of  his  infant  voice  that  Little  Pitcher  would 
cry  to  Molly :  "Don't  do  it !  Keep  from  it !"  Molly  was 
usually  nodding,  mechanically  chewing  the  sweetened 
rag  usually  in  her  mouth,  but  at  the  shrill  command 
she  would  start  out  of  her  nap  and  look  at  Little 
Pitcher  with  a  stupid  half-frightened  air. 

The  house  was  very  still.  The  only  sounds  came  from 
overhead,  when  persons  went  in  and  out  of  his  father's 
room  or  held  whispered  conferences  in  the  upper  hall. 
Everybody  moved  very  softly,  and  when  the  old  gray 
rabbit,  his  father's  pet,  made  its  appearance  at  the 
front  door  Little  Pitcher  fancied  it  hopped  toward  him 
more  lightly  than  was  its  wont. 

Little  Pitcher  held  his  pear  out  of  the  old  gour 
mand's  reach,  and  gazing  at  him  gravely,  recited  Jane 
Taylor's  poem  of  The  Notorious  Glutton.  The  rabbit, 
working  its  nose  at  the  sight  of  food,  squatted  in  front 
of  him,  its  paws  crossed  and  its  ears  raised  and  dis- 


TIME    AND    DISTANCE  201 

playing  a  white  paunch — an  example  of  greediness  as 
shameful  as  the  celebrated  Mrs.  Duck.  The  old  clock 
seemed  to  listen,  too,  as  it  ticked  on. 

They  made  an  odd  party,  the  old  Dutch  clock,  the 
rabbit  and  the  child,  with  his  solemn  gray  eyes,  high 
forehead  and  tumble  of  tight  black  curls. 

The  clock  and  Little  Pitcher  were  friends  of  long 
standing.  The  foot  of  the  stairs  was  his  favorite  seat, 
because  from  there  he  could  watch  the  rocking  ship 
on  the  clock's  face  and  hear  its  tale  of  passing  time. 

Now  in  the  hush  of  the  house  the  tick-tack  sounded 
louder  than  usual.  The  old,  old  story,  told  to-day  with 
so  much  emphasis,  riveted  the  child's  attention  on  the 
venerable  family  monitor.  Little  Pitcher  forgot  his  ser 
mon,  the  rabbit  and  the  golden  pear  in  his  hand,  and 
considered  for  the  hundredth  time  the  mystery  of  the 
clock. 

The  clock  was  of  a  reverend  age.  Carved  on  its 
mahogany  case  were  the  names  of  generations  of  Sand- 
with  owners.  Little  Pitcher  knew  the  story  of  how  in 
Revolutionary  days  the  clock  had  crossed  the  sea  with 
muskets  stuffed  in  its  case.  The  greatest  charm  of  the 
clock  for  the  child  was,  however,  the  little  ship  that 
rocked  to  and  fro  on  green  waves  over  the  dial,  where 
the  hands  moved  like  the  legs  of  a  spider  in  her  web. 
The  ship  was  always  sailing  on  and  never  reaching  har 
bor.  Little  Pitcher  never  remembered  seeing  it  stop 
on  its  journey.  It  had  been  his  earliest  delight  to  watch 
his  father  wind  up  the  clock,  always  at  a  fixed  time, 
as  if  the  winding  of  clocks  were  the  most  important  duty 
of  life.  Something  would  happen,  his  father  often  said, 
if  the  clock  ran  down.  But  that  mysterious  "some- 


202  HECLA   SAXDWITH 

thing"  never  had  happened,  because  the  pine-cone 
pendulums  swung  placidly  within  the  case  and  the  ship 
cheerfully  went  on  its  rocking  way. 

Little  Pitcher  meditated  a  long  time  over  ships  and 
the  people  he  had  heard  of  who  had  crossed  the  ocean 
in  them.  But  these  meditations  came  suddenly  to  an 
end  as  he  noticed  something  peculiar  was  affecting  the 
clock.  It  seemed  to  him  the  ship  began  to  sway  more 
slowly  and  that  the  ticking  was  not  as  loud  as  it  had 
been  a  moment  before.  Yet  the  house  was  very  still. 
The  whispers  and  passing  of  footsteps  in  the  upper  hall 
had  ceased. 

With  a  curious  chill  Little  Pitcher  gazed  at  the  old 
time-piece.  Yes,  the  ship  was  really  moving  slower. 
Finally  it  tilted  sidewise  and  remained  careened.  Was 
it  becalmed  or  had  it  reached  port  at  last  ? 

He  sat  in  fascinated  terror  at  the  silence  of  the  clock. 

There  was  the  sound  of  an  opening  door,  and  Molly 
Tucker  came  down  the  stairs  in  her  awkward  waddling 
fashion,  calling  his  name  as  she  descended.  Little 
Pitcher  did  not  heed  her.  She  gathered  him  up  in 
her  arms,  and  still  unable  to  speak,  he  pointed  a 
trembling  finger  at  the  great  mahogany  time-keeper. 
Molly's  gaze  followed  the  finger,  and  with  a  smothered 
ejaculation  she  bore  Little  Pitcher  up  stairs  to  his 
father's  death-chamber. 


CHAPTEE  XIX 

A  DEAD   FATHER  AND  A   LIVING  DAUGHTER 

The  day  of  Joshua  Sandwith's  funeral  was  bleak  and 
gray.  November's  blight  had  rusted  the  gold  of  Indian 
summer.  The  waste  woods  bled  their  last  red  leaves 
to  ground;  on  blurred  pasture-land  cattle  huddled  in 
melancholy  groups,  and  across  the  sky  like  a  sentence 
was  scrawled  the  long  black  flight  of  crows,  while  sadly 
the  sunlight  fell,  fingering  the  memoried  things  of 
earth.  Nature  was  bare  from  autumn  garnering;  only 
the  corn-fields  lay  like  battle-fields  stacked  with  rusty 
arms.  It  was  a  day  full  of  symbols  of  death.  The  land 
scape  seemed  a  vast  bier,  from  which  a  palpable  soul 
swept  skyward  in  the  ghostliness  of  wind-blown  dust. 

Despite  rough  weather  the  countryside  had  collected 
to  attend  the  burial,  coming  in  all  manner  of  vehicles 
that  lined  the  road  well-nigh  from  Dunkirk  to  the 
house.  A  midday  repast  had  been  served  the  throng 
early  arriving  from  a  distance,  and  to  these  sympathiz 
ers,  as  the  funeral  hour  approached,  the  town  added  its 
hundreds. 

Eichard  Hallett,  who  had  come  down  from  Snow 
Shoe  to  attend  the  funeral,  followed  the  others.  As 
he  walked  up  the  drive-way  he  could  see  the  motley 
crowd  standing  around  the  gray  old  mansion  under  the 

203 


204  HECLA   S'ANDWITH 

stripped  walnut  boughs.  There  were  hale-cheeked  far 
mers  in  great-coats  holding  their  whips ;  wood-choppers 
from  the  ridges  in  cowhide  boots  and  knitted  jackets; 
dingy-faced  colliers,  employes  and  pensioners  of  the 
Works;  the  rich  and  poor  of  the  neighborhood:  in  all 
a  gathering  worthy  the  passing  of  a  great  personage. 

Making  his  way  through  the  sober,  uncomfortable- 
looking  groups,  Richard  Hallett  heard  honoring  epi 
taphs  fall  from  the  general  tongue.  Joshua  Sandwith 
had  never  turned  the  needy  from  his  door;  he  had 
never  asked  over  a  certain  fair  price  for  his  wheat,  no 
matter  how  high  the  market  was ;  his  word  was  as  good 
as  his  bond;  these  and  like  testimonies  to  the  honesty 
and  worth  of  the  iron-master  he  heard  as  he  walked  on. 

Into  the  house — where,  after  the  custom  of  country 
funerals,  the  women  were  gathered — an  unbroken 
stream  flowed  round  the  body  lying  in  the  long  double 
parlor.  There  was  no  badge  of  mourning  on  the  door; 
no  flowers  on  the  coffin  or  anywhere.  Richard  Hallett 
noticed  this,  and  he  was  impressed  with  the  simplicity 
and  gravity  of  death  that  reigned  in  the  room.  Na 
ture's  law  had  been  fulfilled  and  none  had  attempted  to 
soften  its  rigor. 

The  family  were  gathered  in  an  upper  chamber, 
where  they  sat  in  silence.  And  that  silence  gradually 
diffused  itself  through  the  house  and  spread  to  those 
waiting  outside. 

Finally  there  was  a  stir.  Six  of  Mr.  Sandwith's  work 
men,  scarred  by  time  and  faithful  service  to  the  iron 
master,  lifted  the  coffin  on  their  broad  backs  and  bore 
it  away,  followed  by  their  follow  employes  in  a  rugged 
crowd.  They  had  claimed  this  honor  by  virtue  of  an 


A   LIVING   DAUGHTER  205 

old  right  of  workmen  to  bury  their  iron-masters,  and 
Joshua  Sandwith  had  been  well  content  thus  to  be  car 
ried  to  his  grave. 

There  were  some  looking  on  who  realized  that  in  the 
demise  of  Joshua  Sandwith  there  passed  away  the  last 
of  the  long  race  of  old-fashioned  iron  manufacturers 
of  Pennsylvania.  Already  the  industry  of  which  he 
had  been  head  and  front  was  dying,  its  kindly  feudal  re 
lations  changing.  Another  era,  which  substituted  intri 
cate  mechanical  devices  for  simple  honest  labor  of  the 
hand,  was  about  to  dawn.  Henceforth  might  be  ex 
pected  a  new  order  of  master  and  workmen  without  the 
humanness  and  charity  of  former  times. 

The  funeral  went  slowly  on  its  journey.  The  iron 
master's  family,  without  mourning  garments,  walked 
after  the  workmen,  and  behind  these  was  the  long  pro 
cession.  Across  the  meadow,  where  brown  sheep  ceased 
their  nibbling  at  the  bewildering  sight;  past  gray  blur 
of  brier  and  podded  weed  and  sumach  lifting  its  hearse- 
like  plumes ;  up  the  steep  hill  that  skirted  the  Friends' 
Meeting  House  the  procession  wound  its  way.  Clouds 
of  sweeping  dust  made  the  figures  dim  and  spectral  as 
they  moved  along ;  and  overhead  the  sinking  sun,  pierc 
ing  the  dull  vapor,  shot  out  misty  rays  like  spokes  of  a 
vast  chariot-wheel  rolling  across  the  universe.  Here, 
at  the  intersection  of  the  roads,  could  be  seen  overlook 
ing  Dunkirk  the  high  hilltop  on  which,  hidden  by 
hoary  mountain  pines,  stood  the  private  burying-ground 
of  the  Sandwiths. 

In  the  meantime  a  hired  vehicle  was  slowly  nearing 
Dunkirk.  Inside  of  this  Benjamin  Truelove,  the  young 


206  HECLA    SANDWITH 

Quaker  preacher,  sat  with  bowed  head  and  arms  folded 
on  the  breast  of  his  sober  traveling  cloak.  He  had  en 
gaged  the  conveyance  early  that  morning  at  a  small 
settlement  miles  from  Dunkirk,  bidding  the  driver  pro 
ceed  until  ordered  to  stop.  From  time  to  time  the 
coachman  had  put  questions  to  the  absorbed  and  holy 
figure,  but  his  curiosity  was  only  rewarded  by  the  com 
mand,  "Drive  on."  Whither  were  they  bound?  the 
driver  had  asked  himself.  And  it  seemed  indeed  that 
Benjamin  Truelove  did  not  himself  know  their  destina 
tion.  A  voice,  he  believed,  had  spoken  to  him  in  the 
midst  of  his  gospel  labors,  and  Benjamin  Truelove  was 
obeying  the  voice. 

As  they  approached  Dunkirk  the  preacher  lifted  his 
eyes  and  beheld  the  funeral  train  mounting  the  hill. 
Ordering  the  driver  to  stop,  he  alighted  and  stood  wait 
ing.  When  the  procession  was  close  by  Benjamin  True- 
love  took  his  place  beside  the  coffin,  and  they  moved  on 
their  solemn  journey  until  the  burying-ground  was 
reached. 

Here,  when  the  coffin  was  lowered  into  the  earth,  a 
word  was  put  into  Benjamin  Truelove's  mouth. 
"Blessed  are  the  dead  which  die  in  the  Lord  from  hence 
forth:  Yea,  saith  the  Spirit,  that  they  may  rest  from 
their  labors;  and  their  works  do  follow  them."  Having 
uttered  this  text  the  evangelist  preached  a  sermon  in 
which  he  set  forth  the  fruitful  life  of  the  honest  man 
that  had  been  consigned  to  clay. 

Only  after  he  had  finished  his  sermon  did  he  look  up. 
Then  his  eyes  encountered  the  sweet  face  of  Harmony 
standing  between  Dave  and  Hecla,  who,  colorless  and 
without  tears,  was  holding  little  Jervis  by  the  hand. 


A   LIVING   DAUGHTER  207 

Seeing  them,  the  young  seer  realized  for  the  first  time 
that  he  had  been  led  many  miles  that  day  to  preach  a 
sermon  over  the  grave  of  Joshua  Sandwith,  the  iron 
master. 

Hecla  remained  in  the  empty  parlors  after  the  read 
ing  of  the  will.  As  she  sat  before  the  fire  she  could 
hear  from  the  dining-room  the  dull  sounds  of  the 
others  at  supper.  She  listened  with  a  sense  of  her  iso 
lation  from  the  rest.  How  little  any  one  cared  but 
herself,  she  bitterly  thought.  Harmony,  her  married 
sister  Lucia,  whom  she  so  seldom  saw,  Dave,  they  were 
only  her  father's  adopted  children,  and  her  uncles  and 
aunts  had  never  loved  him.  She  thought  of  them  now 
discussing  the  will,  judging  and  misjudging,  speculat 
ing  over  her  sorrow.  With  quick  impulse  she  rose,  and 
crossing  the  hall,  shut  the  door  of  the  sitting-room 
between  them  and  her.  Then  she  took  a  candle,  and  go 
ing  up  stairs  to  Jervis'  cot  stood  a  while  looking  at  him, 
her  father's  son,  as  he  slept.  Eeturning  to  the  parlors, 
she  blew  out  the  lights  on  the  table  and  seated  herself 
in  the  low  rush-bottom  chair  by  the  hearth. 

The  dull  November  day  had  ended  in  a  gray  twilight, 
and  now  fell  the  fine  needles  of  a  cheerless  rain. 
Through  the  window-panes  the  misty  outer  world 
seemed  to  reach  long  tentacles  of  clutching  chill.  Hecla, 
shivering,  threw  on  the  flesh-colored  cedar  fagots,  dried 
pine-cones  and  broken  fir  branches.  It  was  the  kind  of 
fire  she  particularly  liked,  and  to-night  as  she  faced 
the  heat  it  brought  back  comfort  and  companionship. 

The  added  fuel  burst  into  instant  blaze,  the  green 
twigs  turned  to  gold  amid  a  flicker  of  blue  flames;  the 


208  HECLA    SANDWITH 

bubbling  sap  made  the  air  of  the  parlors  sweet.  In  the 
light  of  the  fire  her  deep  eyes  dwelt  on  the  inscription 
of  a  letter  given  her  by  the  lawyer,  who  had  read  her 
father's  will.  "To  my  Daughter  Hecla  in  Case  I  am 
Surprised  by  Death."  As  she  read  these  words  a  new 
sense  of  loneliness  and  responsibility  fell  on  her  spirit. 
She  did  not  weep,  but  with  a  little  tightening  of  the 
lips  she  broke  the  seal  and  spread  the  sheet  of  paper 
on  her  lap. 

She  was  awakened  from  an  absorbed  second  perusal 
of  the  letter  by  a  jarring  noise,  and  glancing  down,  she 
saw  her  father's  pet  rabbit  performing  its  trick  of 
taking  the  poker  in  its  mouth,  shaking  it  and  then  let 
ting  it  drop  on  the  hearth.  The  grotesque  homely  antic 
in  which  Mr.  Sandwith  had  taken  such  delight  touched 
her  as  only  familiar  things  can  do,  and  she  leaned  over 
and  stroked  the  timid  animal's  soft  coat  of  "good 
Friendly  drab,"  as  Mr.  Sandwith  called  it. 

She  was  thus  engaged  when  Wentworth  Oliver  en 
tered  the  room.  He  had  paused  and  was  gravely  watch 
ing  the  picture  she  made  at  the  fire.  Hecla  raised 
her  eyes,  startled  at  seeing  him,  and  as  he  thus  stood  in 
the  dusk,  the  bloom  of  the  hearth  upon  him,  the 
mourning  in  which  he  was  dressed  brought  out  strik 
ingly  the  resemblance  to  his  cousin.  Now  that  her 
father  was  dead,  and  she  was  free  to  marry  him  if  she 
wished,  Hecla  saw  as  never  before  this  proof  of  their 
nearness  of  blood.  She  did  not  speak,  but  instinctively 
her  fingers  closed  on  the  letter  as  though  it  armed  her 
in  some  way  against  the  feelings  his  presence  aroused. 

Moved  by  an  impulse  to  seek  her  Wentworth  now 
hesitated.  Hecla  had  instantly  suppressed  her  emotion 


A   LIVING   DAUGHTER  209 

as  she  looked  at  him,  risen  as  it  were  like  a  reproach 
of  love  out  of  a  sealed  past.  He  had  not  seen  her  alone 
since  her  confession  of  love  in  Mrs.  Hamilton's  parlors 
the  day  of  the  street  riot,  more  than  a  month  ago;  for 
Hecla  had  written  to  forbid  his  coming  to  see  her.  In 
the  letter  she  had  told  him  that  he  must  never  think 
of  her  save  in  the  light  of  a  cousin;  that  the  feelings 
which  had  been  aroused  by  his  accident  were  dead  in 
her;  that  she  never  would,  never  could  love  him.  Then 
had  followed  the  week's  illness  and  death  of  Joshua 
Sandwith.  Wentworth  had  called  daily  at  the  house  to 
inquire  after  his  uncle  and  sit  by  his  bedside,  but  Hecla 
and  he  exchanged  only  a  few  words  in  the  presence  of 
others;  and  always  when  he  entered  the  sick-room  she 
made  a  point  of  absenting  herself.  If  Hecla  was  mis 
tress  of  herself,  it  was  different  with  Wentworth.  As 
he  stood  there  he  felt  his  passion  mount  in  him.  The 
sight  of  her  detachment  from  the  family,  the  pathos  of 
her  controlled  and  lonely  sorrow,  filled  him  with  long 
ing  to  hold  and  comfort  her,  to  break  down  the  barrier 
that  separated  them.  After  a  moment  in  which  their 
eyes  met  she  turned  her  gaze  to  the  fire,  her  chin  rest 
ing  on  her  hand,  to  which  the  heat  gave  a  rose-col 
ored  transparency,  as  she  apathetically  waited  for  him 
to  address  her. 

"Hecla,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  your  father's 
will." 

Hecla's  expression  did  not  alter  as  she  answered : 

"Is  it  necessary  to  discuss  that  so  soon?" 

"No,  if  it  is  painful  to  you." 

"It  is  not  painful,"  she  said,  "but  I  can  hardly  think 
as  yet  of  this  new  life  without  my  father,  and  all  it 


210  HECLA   SANDWITH 

imposes  on  me."  She  shifted  her  position,  sitting  back 
in  her  chair  out  of  the  blaze.  Then  she  added,  gazing 
at  the  letter  in  her  hand:  "Father  has  left  Jervis  in 
my  special  charge ;  he  wants  him  to  be  the  Benjamin  of 
my  love.  I  think  he  feared  the  poor  child  would  never 
grow  to  be  a  man.  Does  he  seem  to  you  so  delicate, 
Wentworth  ?" 

In  her  concern  about  her  brother  she  had  uncon 
sciously  yielded  to  the  old  intimate  feelings.  Her 
cousin,  after  a  little  hesitation,  seated  himself  opposite 
her  and  stared  into  the  flames. 

"I  don't  know,  Hecla.  He  isn't  as  strong  as  most  boys 
of  his  age,  but  I  don't  see  why  he  shouldn't  outgrow 
his  weakness.  The  sturdiest  men  are  often  delicate  as 
children." 

"It  is  a  relief  to  have  you  feel  that  way,"  she  an 
swered  gratefully.  "What  did  you  want  to  say  about 
the  will?" 

Wentworth  again  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  fire.  "It  was 
a  surprise  to  me,"  he  began  awkwardly,  "that  Uncle 
Joshua  appointed  me  joint  executor  and  trustee  with 
you  of  his  property." 

"Why?  Father  had  great  confidence  in  you  as  a 
lawyer." 

"He  had  too  much  faith  in  me,"  Wentworth  said 
bitterly.  "I  think  I  ought  not  to  accept  the  trust." 

"Why  ought  you  not?" 

"Hecla,  do  you  wish  it  ?  Do  you  think  it  wise  ?" 

"I  wish  what  my  father  wished,"  she  answered  cold 
ly.  She  realized  he  was  touching  on  their  personal  re 
lations,  but  ignoring  this,  she  went  on  with  dignity. 
"I  think  he  knew  what  was  best.  I  am  not  called  upon 


"A   LIVING   DAUGHTER  211 

to  decide  what  is  your  duty.  It  is  a  matter  for  you  to 
settle  yourself.  But  why  ought  you  not?"  she  repeated, 
her  eyes  challenging  him  with  self-control.  To  admit 
the  existence  of  his  love  at  such  a  time  seemed  a  sacrilege 
to  her  father's  memory.  Besides,  it  was  clearly  her  part 
to  show  no  answering  weakness. 

Wentworth  pushed  back  a  log  with  his  foot  as  though 
putting  temptation  from  his  heart ;  yet  he  said : 

"I  should  do  my  best,  of  course." 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  say  that." 

They  were  silent  a  moment;  then  Hecla  went  on 
firmly : 

"As  long  as  you  have  brought  up  the  subject  of  the 
will,  perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  discuss  it  further. 
Will  you  tell  me  just  what  my  father  directed?  Legal 
phraseology  confuses  me.  Tell  me  in  your  own  words, 
please,  what  he  expects  of  me." 

"Briefly,  your  father  has  made  us  co-trustees  and  ex 
ecutors  of  his  property  for  the  benefit  of  Jervis  until  he 
is  of  age,  and  then  if  he  does  not  show  proper  capacity 
for  business  the  trust  is  to  continue  through  his  life 
time.  The  Works  have  been  left  to  you,  you  under 
stand." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  said  sadly.  "But  are  you  sure  that 
Dave  has  not  been  left  a  share  in  it?" 

"No,  it  has  been  left  to  you  and  Jervis." 

Her  face  showed  the  trouble  of  her  thoughts.  The 
letter  in  her  hand  had  perplexed  and  pained  her.  In  it 
her  father  had,  after  solemnly  confiding  Jervis  to  her 
care,  charged  her  that  if  at  the  expiration  of  his  year's 
lease  of  the  furnace  David  proved  unsuccessful  as  iron 
master,  she  was  to  offer  the  management  of  the  business 


212  HECLA    SANDWITH 

to  Eichard  Hallett.  Mr.  Sandwith,  in  speaking  of  the 
Englishman,  had  expressed  his  high  esteem  and  confi 
dence  in  his  abilities,  and  in  closing  mentioned  his  re 
gret  that  his  daughter  had  refused  so  suitable  a  hus 
band. 

Wentworth,  as  he  looked  at  her,  noticed  how  gener 
ously  grieved  she  was  that  Dave  had  not  been  left  a 
share  in  the  Works. 

"You  think  Dave  will  be  disappointed,  Hecla?"  he 
asked  gently. 

She  did  not  answer  his  question.  "Tell  me,"  she 
said  anxiously,  "what  the  will  said  about  Dave's  re-leas 
ing  the  Works?" 

"There  was  no  mention  of  that." 

Hecla  gave  a  secret  sigh  of  relief.  So  her  father  had 
made  no  condition  regarding  Dave's  management  of  the 
business  in  the  will.  She  decided  quickly  that  she  would 
not  speak  of  what  the  letter  said  on  this  point.  Know 
ing  nothing  of  the  quarrel  between  Mr.  Sandwith  and 
his  stepson  she  was  convinced  her  father  had  recom 
mended  Eichard  Hallett  as  the  result  of  his  depression 
over  Benjamin  Truelove's  prophecy.  If  such  were  the 
case,  what  a  wrong  to  David  to  tell  Wentworth  of  her 
father's  doubts  of  his  stepson ! 

"You  know,"  her  cousin  continued,  "the  re-leasing  of 
the  Works  to  Dave  depends  on  you  as  trustee." 

"Why  should  there  be  any  question  of  the  re-leasing 
of  the  Works  to  Dave?"  she  answered.  "He  is  so  capa 
ble  ;  he  is  doing  so  Well." 

She  did  not  ask  Wentworth  to  confirm  this  statement, 
but  she  waited  expecting  his  assent.  He  did  not  an 
swer,  however,  knowing  what  rumors  of  Dave's  inef- 


A   LIVING   DAUGHTER  213 

ficiency  were  current  in  Dunkirk.  Hecla  looked  at  him 
with  a  slight  frown.  So  he,  too,  permitted  himself  to  be 
influenced  by  general  prejudice  against  her  stepbrother. 
There  was  some  hostility  in  Hecla's  tone  when  she 
next  spoke. 

"Is  there  anything  else  I  should  know?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "The  house  and  grounds  have 
been  willed  to  you  and  Jervis,  as  well  as  the  residuary 
of  the  estate,  except  the  proceeds  of  six  farms  that  go 
to  Dave,  Harmony  and  Lucia  for  life.  Then  there  were 
a  few  legacies." 

Hecla  suppressed  another  inward  sigh.  How  little 
had  been  left  the  others!  She  feared  they  would  feel 
slighted  and  dissatisfied  and  think  ill  of  her  father.  She 
gave  no  expression  of  this,  however. 

"What  are  my  duties  ?" 
•  "You  have  the  duties  of  a  trustee." 

"You  mean  I  shall  have  personally  to  take  care  of  the 
property?  But  the  burden  of  that  will  be  on  your 
shoulders  as  a  lawyer." 

"Of  course;  there  will  be  the  legal  matters  for  me  to 
look  after — or  for  whoever  is  appointed  in  my  place." 

"You  think  of  refusing?"  she  asked  wonderingly,  as 
if  the  subject  had  not  been  mentioned  before. 

He  rose  from  his  chair,  laying  one  hand  on  the  ledge 
of  the  high  wooden  mantel-piece.  The  gilt  mirror  re 
flected  the  struggle  in  his  face.  Hecla  was  regarding 
him  mutely.  She  had  begun  to  realize  the  full  import 
of  her  position  toward  the  family,  and  something  told 
her  that  out  of  it  all  difficulties  and  sorrows  would 
arise.  It  was  her  father's  wish  that  Wentworth  should 
help  her  in  preserving  the  interests  of  his  household. 


214  HECLA   SANDWITH 

and  she  resolved  that  he  must  accept  the  trusteeship,  no 
matter  at  what  cost  to  him  or  her. 

"I  thought  you  loved  my  father,  Wentworth,"  she 
said  at  last. 

"Don't  you  see  I  can't  accept?"  he  answered  desper 
ately.  "I  should  have  to  see  you  almost  daily,  perhaps. 
It  was  you  who  made  the  condition  we  should  keep 
apart.  I  have  grown  to  believe  it  best,  too,  since  you  re 
fuse  to  think  of  our  ever  being  anything  to  each  other. 
I  came  to  tell  you  this.  "What  do  you  think  a  man  is 
made  of,  Hecla?" 

"Wentworth,  I  have  gone  through  a  good  deal.  Could 
you  not  have  spared  me  this  at  such  a  time?"  Her 
voice  had  suddenly  grown  tired. 

He  turned  to  her  instantly,  full  of  remorse.  "For 
give  me,  Hecla;  I  do  not  mean  to  trouble  you,  only  I 
felt  I  had  to  speak,  to  tell  you  that  I  mean  to  keep  my 
promise  of  staying  away  from  you,  as  you  asked." 

"You  have  kept  it  so  well  I  might  suppose  that  by 
this  time  you  have  conquered  whatever  you  felt  for  me." 
The  words  sprang  involuntarily,  out  of  repressed  emo 
tions  in  her  heart,  and  she  bit  her  lips  over  their  jealous 
implication. 

"Hecla,  you  know  that  isn't  true,"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
have  not  ceased  to  care.  I  love  you;  I  shall  love  you 
always !"  Kneeling  beside  her,  he  took  her  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her  on  the  lips.  She  struggled  against  him, 
feeling  rather  than  hearing  the  pent-up  passion  of  his 
words,  that  seemed  to  drown  all  remembrance  for  her. 
Suddenly  he  released  her  at  the  sound  of  an  opening 
door  and,  rising  to  his  feet,  turned  away  overcome  with 
shame.  It  was  unforgivable  that  he  should  have  yielded 


A   LIVING   DAUGHTER  215 

to  his  love  on  the  day  she  had  buried  her  father,  when 
her  sorrow  should  have  been  her  sanctuary. 

Hecla  was  trembling,  still  unable  to  speak,  when 
Hetty  entered  the  parlors.  She  glanced  curiously  at  the 
two  cousins,  then  for  better  scrutiny  struck  a  match. 

"Why  did  thee  blow  out  the  lights,  Hecla?"  she 
asked.  "It's  gloomy  for  thee  to  be  sitting  in  the  dark 
and  without  thy  supper,  too.  There  is  nothing  like  eat 
ing  to  keep  one  up.  Benjamin  Truelove  is  praying  for 
the  household,  but  I  slipped  away  to  see  if  thee  needed 
anything.  Everybody  thinks  it  wonderful  the  way  he 
was  led  to  come  and  preach  a  sermon  about  thy  father 
being  such  an  honest  man.  I  suppose  thee  and  Went- 
worth  have  been  discussing  the  will.  Dave  and  Lucia 
look  disappointed,  but  I  think  thy  father  did  perfectly 
right  to  consider  his  own  children.  It  must  be  trying, 
though,  for  Dave  and  the  rest  to  have  thee  set  over  them 
as  the  will  directs.  They'll  have  to  call  thee  their  Sister 
Joseph.  Why,  thee  seems  quite  upset.  Hadn't  thee  bet 
ter  try  a  bite  of  supper — ?" 

"I  am  going  up  stairs,  Hetty,"  Hecla  faltered,  still 
struggling  for  self-control.  "Please  say  I  have  gone  to 
bed.  Good  night." 

With  an  air  of  including  Wentworth  in  the  speech, 
she  moved  into  the  hall  and  was  mounting  the  stairs, 
when  Mrs.  Seaborn  Oliver,  coming  out  of  the  sitting- 
room,  caught  sight  of  her. 

"Hecla,  surely  you  are  not  retiring  without  saying 
good  night  to  your  aunt?"  she  cried.  Her  deep  voice 
had  majestic  modulations  fitting  the  occasion.  She  was 
in  heavy  mourning,  for  it  was  always  a  sad  satisfaction 
te  her  to  exhume  her  sacred  weeds.  Although  she  felt 


216  HECLA    SANDWITH 

in  Joshua  Sandwith's  home  a  freedom  never  experienced 
during  his  lifetime,  she  yielded  willingly  to  tears. 

"Don't  give  way  too  much,  niece,"  she  sighed;  "re 
member,  we  all  have  our  trials.  Think  of  your  aunt's 
sorrows,  and  how  bravely  she  has  borne  them !  If  you 
desire  me  to  remain  with  you  to-night  do  not  hesitate  to 
say  so.  I  know  my  duty  to  my  poor  dead  sister's  chil 
dren." 

"Thank  you,  aunt,"  Hecla  said  wearily,  "but  I  think 
I  should  rather  be  alone  to-night." 

"Ah,  yes !  We  must  ]earn  to  be  alone.  It  is  life's  sad 
lesson.  Hecla,"  she  added,  and  her  niece  again  patiently 
paused,  "I  thought  you  would  have  worn  a  more  sober 
gown  to-day.  It  pained  me  a  little  to  see  you  dressed  as 
usual  and  your  father  taken.  He  used  to  hurt  my  feel 
ings,  but  I  grieve  that  he  is  called  away,  and  I  felt  it 
right  to  let  the  world  know  by  my  veil." 

"I  dressed  as  my  father  would  have  wished." 

"Yes,  you  tried  to  be  a  dutiful  daughter,"  the  other 
answered  with  tearful  patronage.  "Wentworth  will  be 
a  great  solace ;  you  will  need  his  advice  as  a  fatherless 
girl.  There  you  are,  my  son.  I  was  just  telling  Hecla 
I  was  willing  to  make  any  sacrifices  for  her.  I  always 
wished  to  do  more,  but  your  uncle — " 

"Never  mind,  mother,  Hecla  understands."  And 
Wentworth  held  out  his  hand  to  his  cousin  with  appeal 
for  forgiveness  in  his  look.  "Good  night,"  she  an 
swered,  but  she  did  not  take  his  hand.  He  stood  watch 
ing  her  as  she  mounted  the  stairs  until  the  turn  of  the 
landing  hid  her  candle  from  sight.  His  mother  was 
standing  by  the  clock  which  still  pointed  to  the  hour  of 
Joshua  Sandwith's  death. 


A   LIVING   DAUGHTER  217 

"Wentworth,"  she  solemnly  remarked  when  he  had 
joined  her,  "Providence  moves  in  a  mysterious  way  with 
your  Uncle  Joshua's  clocks.  I  feel  that  it  is  His  hand 
indeed  that  is  on  the  dial  1" 


BOOR  II 


CHAPTEE  I 

THE   SCENE  BEGINS   TO   CLOUD 

It  was  the  spring  of  fifty-seven  and  six  months 
since  the  passing  away  of  Joshua  Sandwith.  April  had 
come,  but  central  Pennsylvania,  always  a  little  wintry- 
mooded  with  its  evergreen  growths,  showed  only  black 
and  white  landscapes.  Yet  there  were  some  few  signs 
of  the  year's  awakening  around  the  old  Sandwith  home 
stead.  The  willow  that  Wentworth  and  Hecla  had 
planted  on  the  island  in  front  of  the  house  was  shaking 
its  budding  green  tresses;  peeping  wheat  blades  on  the 
hills  beyond  the  meadow  lay  like  a  thin  emerald  mist; 
and  the  Carolina  doves  were  returning  to  their  nests  in 
the  black  walnut  grove. 

Hecla  and  Jervis  stood  on  the  porch  at  Burnham 
watching  the  coming  of  the  doves.  Little  Pitcher,  as 
he  peered  up  gravely  into  the  bare  dripping  branches, 
said  disappointedly : 

"Why,  Sister  Hecla,  the  doves  have  forgotten  to 
bring  their  olive  leaves  with  them !" 

"Doves  don't  carry  olive  twigs  in  their  beaks  any 
more,  Little  Pitcher.  It  was  only  in  the  days  of  Noah 
and  the  Ark.  When  you  see  it  in  pictures  it  means  that 
they  are  the  spirit  of  peace." 

"And  aren't  our  doves  spirits  of  peace,  too,  Sister 
Hecla?" 

221 


223  HECLA   S'ANDWITE 

"I  hope  they  are/'  Hecla  smiled  as  she  patted  his 
cheek.  "But  now  go  play,  dear.  There's  Cousin  Went 
worth  coming  up  the  path  and  Sister  Hecla  has  to  talk 
to  him  about  business." 

Hecla  stood  waiting  for  her  cousin  to  approach.  She 
was  accustomed  to  exercising  self-control  when  they  met, 
as  they  were  so  often  compelled  to  do  since  she  had  per 
suaded  Wentworth  to  accept  the  trusteeship.  She  had 
bitterly  reproached  herself  for  her  words  on  the  even 
ing  after  the  funeral,  which  had  caused  the  breaking 
down  again  of  the  barrier  between  them.  She  had  re 
solved  that  henceforth  she  would  treat  him  as  though 
he  were  nothing  more  to  her  than  the  family  lawyer. 
To  school  herself  in  this  suppression  of  natural  feelings 
she  frequently  summoned  him  to  discuss  business  af 
fairs  with  him,  even  when  they  were  matters  of  small 
consequence,  taking  satisfaction  in  the  mastery  of  her 
self  which  she  thereby  gained. 

She  awaited  him  now  with  many  anxious  thoughts. 
David's  lease  of  the  Works  was  about  to  expire  and  he 
had  not  yet  made  his  settlement  for  the  half-year. 
Wentworth  had  spoken  of  this  to  her,  and  aware  of  her 
brother's  bitter  resentment  of  Wentworth's  appointment 
as  trustee  of  her  father's  property,  Hecla  had  said  she 
would  herself  see  Dave  in  regard  to  the  payments  due. 
David  had  given  his  plea  for  not  meeting  his  obliga 
tions  promptly  that  he  had  labored  under  heavy  ex 
penses  in  his  management  of  the  furnace.  The  chem 
ical  ovens  and  other  innovations  had  taken  capital  and 
he  had  had  difficulty,  owing  to  the  depressed  times,  in 
collecting  money  on  the  shipments  of  iron.  The  truth 


THE    SCENE    BEGINS    TO    CLOUD       223 

was  that  Dave  had  negotiated  a  loan  to  make  the  first 
half-year's  payment,  which  had  fallen  due  just  before 
Joshua  Sandwith's  death,  fearing  that  any  default  in 
the  matter  of  a  settlement  would  further  increase  the 
strained  relations  in  which  he  stood  toward  his  step 
father.  The  rejection  of  a  number  of  shipments  of 
metal  for  reasons  similar  to  those  which  had  caused  the 
important  Louisville  order  to  be  refused  had  greatly 
reduced  the  profits  of  the  year's  running;  a  good  part 
of  these  profits  Dave  had  been  forced  to  use  to  pay  off 
his  notes.  Hence  his  embarrassment  in  regard  to  his 
settlement  with  the  estate. 

Wentworth  greeted  his  cousin  with  the  words :  "Well, 
Hecla,  what  is  the  result  of  your  talk  with  David  ?" 

"Dave  says  it  will  be  difficult  for  him  to  make  a  full 
settlement  until  he  gets  money  for  the  spring  ship 
ments/'  she  answered.  "It  will  only  be  a  matter  of  a 
month  or  so." 

"But,  Hecla,  if  Dave  should  take  the  money  due  this 
summer  to  pay  his  April  term,  how  is  he  going  to  meet 
the  October  payment?  If  he  begins  by  being  a  month 
or  so  behind,  it  will  soon  be  six  months,  then  a  year, 
and  that  in  the  end  means  ruin." 

"Don't  you  think  you  are  a  little  hard  on  Dave, 
Wentworth?"  Hecla  said  with  some  feeling.  "Kemem- 
ber  it  is  his  first  year  at  the  Works  and  you  can't  ex 
pect  him  to  manage  as  well  as  father  did.  He  has  been 
under  heavy  expenses.  There's  been  some  new  machin 
ery  at  the  rolling-mill  to  put  in,  he  tells  me,  and  he  has 
had  to  make  other  improvements;  you  know,  too,  that 
he  built  the  ovens  for  making  chemical  fuel." 


224  HECLA    SANDWITH 

"Why,  Hecla,  I  am  almost  certain  that  Uncle  Joshua 
himself  paid  for  the  new  equipment,"  was  the  answer. 
"Indeed,  I  remember  now  he  said  so  to  me." 

"That  can  not  be,  Wentworth,"  Hecla  said  indig 
nantly.  "Dave  told  me  that  it  was  he  who  paid  for  the 
changes !" 

"Perhaps  you  misunderstood  Dave,"  Wentworth  said 
considerately.  "And,  after  all,  that's  not  the  point. 
We  must  look  at  the  matter  practically.  As  trustees, 
it's  our  duty  to  think  of  the  estate  only;  and  in  the 
eyes  of  the  law  Dave  is  no  different  from  any  other 
debtor." 

Hecla  knit  her  slim  white  hands  together  for  a 
thoughtful  moment.  "Well,  then,  Wentworth,  I  had 
better  advance  Dave  the  money  so  he  can  make  the  set 
tlement.  Just  for  this  first  half-year!"  she  pleaded  as 
she  saw  the  look  on  his  face. 

"I  think  it  very  unwise,  Hecla.  It  i&  a  large  sum  of 
money,  you  know !" 

"But  it  is  only  a  loan  and  Dave  says  this  summer  will 
be  very  profitable,  that  the  price  of  iron  is  going  up.  I 
think  I  ought  to  do  that  much  for  my  brother,  so  don't 
oppose  me.  Wentworth,  have  you  taken  into  consider 
ation  how  handicapped  poor  Dave  has  been  all  along? 
Remember  the  way  Uncle  Gideon  and  Aunt  Deborah 
talk  about  him.  And  Benjamin  Truelove's  'message/ 
what  could  be  more  injurious  to  him  than  that  has 
been !  The  whole  connection  believes  now  that  Dave  is 
destined  to  ruin  his  family.  Even  you,  Wentworth, 
haven't  the  faith  in  him  you  ought  to  have!  Eichard 
Hallett  is  the  only  person  who  seems  to  sympathize 


THE    SCENE    BEGINS    TO    CLOUD       225 

with  my  brother  and  understand  what  it  means  to  have 
people  think  ill  of  you." 

"Richard  Hallett,"  Wentworth  answered,  "is  the  last 
person  to  let  the  world's  opinion  weigh  with  him. 
Hecla,  you  argue  from  a  woman's  sentimental  stand 
point.  Dave  ought  to  be — I  don't  say  he  is  not — man 
enough  to  overcome  public  prejudice  and  not  use  it  to 
excuse  himself  from  meeting  his  obligations.  If  Uncle 
Joshua  were  alive  Dave  would  have  arranged  somehow 
to  make  the  settlement,  of  that  I  am  persuaded.  Of 
course,  your  money  is  your  own  and  no  one  can  prevent 
your  doing  what  you  wish  with  it,  but,  believe  me,  you 
will  not  do  Dave  a  kindness  by  lending  him  such  a 
sum." 

"You're  hard  and  unjust  to  my  brother,  Wentworth," 
Ilecla  answered.  "You  distrust  him  without  cause  and 
therefore  you  think  I  oughtn't  to  help  him.  It  is  only 
natural  and  right  I  should  lend  him  the  money." 

As  Wentworth  rose  to  go  she  said  to  him:  "I  have 
invited  Ehoda  Markham  to  pay  me  a  visit.  I  hope 
you'll  come  to  see  her." 

"Why,  yes,  Hecla,  I  shall  be  very  glad,"  he  replied. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  asked  him  to  call  at  the 
house  except  when  it  was  necessary  to  talk  to  him  about 
business.  She  was,  apparently,  studying  a  bunch  of 
wood  violets  she  had  picked  in  the  meadow  with  Jervis 
a  little  while  before  Wentworth's  arrival.  As  she  ar 
ranged  them  a  few  of  the  violets  fell  on  the  ground. 
He  handed  them  to  her,  thinking  how  she  had  been 
wont  in  the  old  days  to  pick  them  for  his  buttonhole; 
for  they  were  his  favorite  flower. 


226  HECLA    SANDWITH 

"Wentworth,"  she  said  after  a  moment,  "Rhoda  is 
such  a  lovely  girl/' 

"Yes,  I  think  her  quite  pretty." 

"I  don't  mean  that,  Wentworth.  I  was  speaking  of 
her  character.  I  found  her,  when  we  were  together  at 
school,  always  so  frank  and  affectionate." 

"Yes?"  Wentworth  said  perfunctorily. 

"Why  don't  you  like  her?" 

"I  do  like  her ;  I  think  her  very  bright  and  lively." 

"She  likes  you,  I  know,"  she  insisted. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  he  answered  quietly;  "but  I 
must  be  going  back  to  the  office.  Good-by,  Hecla.  You 
will  let  me  know  when  Miss  Markham  arrives  ?" 

"Good-by,"  she  answered.  She  stood  watching  his 
alert  figure  cross  the  bridge;  then  with  a  slight  intake 
of  the  breath  she  suddenly  threw  away  the  violets  in 
her  hand  and  wandered  slowly  to  the  little  island  arbor. 

She  was  offended  over  what  Wentworth  had  said 
about  Dave,  yet  his  words  weighed  heavily  on  her  mind. 
Ever  since  she  had  been  left  in  what  was  virtually  the 
position  of  family  guardian,  she  had  pondered  her  many 
responsibilities.  She  had  never  spoken  to  any  one  of 
her  father's  letter  in  regard  to  Dave  and  the  re-leasing 
of  the  furnace,  yet  she  had  thought  constantly  of  it.  It 
rested  with  her  whether  or  not  Dave  should  continue 
managing  the  Works.  If  he  proved  his  inefficiency  as 
iron-master  then  she  must  offer  the  management  to 
Richard  Hallett,  as  her  father  had  charged  her  to  do. 
She  shrank  from  considering  this  alternative ;  her  pride 
of  family,  her  affection  for  Dave,  both  fought  against 
the  belief  that  it  would  ever  be  necessary  to  do  so.  She 
felt  that  her  brother  was  handicapped  by  public  opinion ; 


THE    SCENE    BEGINS    TO    CLOUD       22? 

that  he  needed  only  a  real  chance  to  demonstrate  his 
business  ability.  Not  to  give  him  that  chance  by  re-leas 
ing  the  Works  to  him  would  have  seemed  to  her  an  act  of 
harshest  injustice. 

Hecla  had  given  much  thought  to  Dave  also  in  other 
respects.  She  had  never  approved  of  his  living  at  Mrs. 
Littlepage's  boarding-house,  and  after  the  death  of  her 
father  she  had  asked  him  to  make  his  home  at  Burnham. 
Dave  had  refused  to  do  so  on  the  ground  that  he  wished 
to  be  near  the  Works.  This  had  seemed  a  reasonable 
excuse,  yet  Hecla  felt  the  refusal  was  partly  due  to  his 
contentment  with  his  present  quarters.  That  he  should 
be  satisfied  to  live  at  a  boarding-house  with  his  clerks 
as  his  companions  distressed  her,  for  it  seemed  to  jus 
tify  Hetty  Wain  in  her  opinion  constantly  expressed 
that  Dave  was  fond  of  "common  people."  For  this  rea 
son  Hecla  had  come  to  wish  that  Dave  might  marry 
some  refined  girl  in  his  own  rank  of  life,  and  she  would 
have  rejoiced  to  have  him  win  her  friend  Ehoda  Mark- 
ham's  hand.  She  had  spoken  of  Ehoda  to  Wentworth 
that  day  partly  because  she  frequently  took  occasion  to 
impress  him  with  the  fact  that  she  had  for  him  only 
cousinly  sentiments  and  therefore  interested  herself  in 
his  friendship  for  other  girls.  She  had  also  spoken 
partly  because  she  regarded  Wentworth  as  possessing  a 
claim  to  Bhoda,  since  his  mother  wished  him  to  marry 
her.  In  asking  her  school  friend  to  Burnham  she 
planned  to  throw  her  in  Dave's  society,  but  she  would 
have  considered  it  ungenerous  to  Wentworth  not  to  ask 
him  to  call  at  the  house  and,  thus  give  him  an  equal 
chance  of  paying  attentions  to  her  visitor  if  he  felt  in 
clined. 


228  HECLA    SANDWITH 

She  was  dwelling  on  the  possibility  of  a  marriage 
between  her  brother  and  Khoda  Markham  when,  chanc 
ing  to  look  up,  she  saw  Christy  Pickle  on  her  way  to  the 
house.  Hecla  considered  Christy  as  an  apparition  of  ill 
and  she  went  to  meet  her  caller  with  a  sense  of  some 
foreboding.  The  old  woman's  first  words,  delivered  with 
her  wonted  aggressiveness,  were : 

"I  come  to  see  ye  'bout  Dave  and  Clover  Littlepage." 

"What  can  you  have  to  say  about  my  brother  and 
Miss  Littlepage?"  Hecla  asked  surprisedly. 

"Dave  has  to  morry  her,  that's  wot  Ah  hev  to  say. 
He  promised  her  morriage,  an'  now  he's  given'  her  the 
go-by — an'  the  gal's  heart  is  ben  broke." 

"What  do  you  mean?  My  brother  could  never  have 
asked  such  a  girl  as  Clover  Littlepage  to  be  his  wife. 
She  has  invented  the  story  to  injure  him." 

"Injure  Dave!  My  Lord!"  Christy  ejaculated.  "So 
it's  Clover  Littlepage  that's  a-injuren'  yer  brother, 
hey?"  The  shrill  bitter  mirthfulness  into  which  she 
fell  made  Hecla  shudder.  "And  all  cuz  she  wuz  fool 
enough  to  think  he  meant  his  word  to  her !" 

"His  word !  I  don't  believe  my  brother  ever  made 
her  a  promise  of  marriage." 

"If  he  didn't  then  he  otter,"  was  the  old  woman's 
grim  retort,  "fer  he's  played  her  dirty  mean." 

"How  dare  you  speak  so  of  my  brother !"  Hecla  cried 
in  quick  indignation  at  this.  "I  shan't  listen  to  such 
outrageous  things  against  him !" 

"Don't  ye  be  high  and  mighty  with  me,  Heckly  Sand- 
with,"  Christy  warned  in  her  shrill  tone.  "They  ain't 
lies,  but  God's  own  truth,  I'm  tellen'  ye.  An'  ef  ye 


THE    SCENE    BEGINS    TO    CLOUD       229 

don't  think  so,  go  and  see  Clover.  Mebbe  ye'll  believe 
yer  own  eyes !" 

"Stop !"  Hecla  cried  almost  in  physical  sickness,  hid 
ing  her  eyes  with  her  hands  as  if  to  shut  out  the  picture 
so  coarsely  thrust  upon  her.  Then  she  turned  toward 
the  house. 

"Too  fine  to  listen  to  me,  air  ye?"  Christy  sneered. 
"Afraid  a  the  truth?  If  Joshua  wuz  alive,  he'd  listen 
fast  enough  an'  lose  no  time  neither  righten'  the  wrong 
that's  ben  done !" 

Hecla  paused.  In  evoking  Joshua  Sandwith's  sense 
of  justice  the  old  woman  appealed  also  to  Hecla's.  She 
remembered  the  high  esteem  in  which  her  father  had 
always  held  Christy  Pickle;  she  recalled  his  praise  of 
her  on  their  drive  to  the  furnace  the  Sunday  morning 
of  its  relighting.  Commanding  her  indignation  and 
dislike  she  turned  at  Christy's  last  remark  and  bade  her 
finish  what  she  had  to  say.  When  she  had  done  she  re 
marked  hurriedly: 

"I  shall  speak  to  my  brother  about  this.  If  he  has 
promised  to  marry  Miss  Littlepage,  you  may  be  sure  he 
will  do  so." 

When  Christy  Pickle  had  taken  her  leave,  Hecla  suc 
cumbed  to  the  shock  and  humiliation  of  what  she  had 
heard.  Too  inexperienced  in  life  to  know  what  to  believe, 
she  was  appalled  at  such  a  charge  being  brought  against 
her  brother  and  could  only  hope  that  it  was  false.  She 
had  never  credited  Hetty's  hints  and  innuendoes  re 
garding  David's  character,  having  long  ago  learned  to 
discount  much  her  cousin  said;  but  Christy's  accusa 
tions  had  the  stamp  of  sincerity  and  made  her  fearful 


230  HECLA    SANDWITH 

that  there  might,  alas!  be  some  truth  in  the  gossip 
about  his  low  tastes.  She  felt  degraded  over  having  had 
to  listen  to  Christy,  bowed  down  with  bitter  disappoint 
ment  that  her  own  plans  for  her  brother  were  so  threat 
ened — that  instead  of  Dave's  marrying  Ehoda  Mark- 
ham,  he  seemed  destined  to  wed  one  in  a  different  class 
of  life  and  with  nothing  to  recommend  her,  she  despair 
ingly  conjectured,  except  her  trivial  prettiness.  As  she 
thought  of  this  and  her  pledge  to  Christy  that  she  would 
see  justice  done,  Hecla  wrung  her  hands  in  anguish. 
Never  had  her  sense  of  responsibility  toward  those  she 
loved  so  borne  her  down  in  all  the  months  that  had 
passed  since  Mr.  Sandwith's  death. 

The  question  of  Dave's  re-leasing  the  furnace  seemed 
paltry  compared  with  this  trouble,  this  attaint  on  family 
honor  and  respectability.  She  wished  her  father  were 
alive  to  counsel  her,  yet  she  rejoiced  that  he  was  dead, 
knowing  how  harshly  he  would  have  dealt  with  Dave  if 
what  Christy  said  proved  true.  She  recognized  that  she 
must  meet  the  emergency,  much  as  her  delicacy  shrank 
from  it;  that  she  must  summon  all  her  fortitude  and 
self-control. 

The  first  thing  was  to  see  Dave,  and  ordering  the 
carriage  she  drove  out  to  the  Works  where  she  found 
him  in  the  office. 

"Dave,"  Hecla  said,  hanging  on  the  hope  of  his  de 
nial,  "is  it  true  that  you  have  asked  Clover  Littlepage 
to  be  your  wife?" 

Dave,  seated  opposite  her,  stared  at  her  in  surprise, 
his  handsome  self-assured  countenance  reddening. 

"Well,"  he  said  angrily,  "that's  a  pretty  cool  question 


THE    SCENE    BEGINS    TO    CLOUD       231 

for  you  to  ask!  When  did  you  become  interested  in 
Clover  Littlepage  ?" 

Hecla  leaned  forward  and  laid  her  hand  entreatingly 
on  her  brother's  arm.  "Tell  me,  Dave,  that  it  is  not 
true !" 

"What  do  you  mean,  coming  out  here  with  your  trag 
edy  airs?"  he  exclaimed,  rudely  shaking  off  her  touch. 
"I'm  growing  tired  of  your  interference  with  my  affairs  ! 
The  sooner  you  get  it  out  of  your  head  you're  your 
brother's  keeper  the  better  it  will  be  for  both  of  us!" 
Then  suspiciously:  "Who's  been  talking  to  you — 
Clover?" 

"No,  I  do  not  know  her,  Dave.  It  was  Christy  Pickle 
who  spoke  to  me." 

"Christy  Pickle!"  he  exclaimed  furiously.  "Damn 
Christy  Pickle!  It's  like  her  eternal  meddling!  I  wish 
the  old  witch  were — " 

"Dave !"  she  pleaded  in  distress. 

"A  nice  sister  you  are,  I  must  say!"  he  went  on 
sneeringly.  "If  you're  going  to  believe  everything  peo 
ple  say  against  me — " 

"I  came  to  ask  you  if  it  were  true,  Dave,"  she  inter 
rupted  nervously.  "I  didn't  believe — I  don't  want  to 
believe  anything  against  you !" 

"No,  I  haven't  promised  to  marry  her,  if  you  must 
know !  And  what  difference  does  it  make  if  I  did  prom 
ise  !  Women  are  never  satisfied  until  they  get  you  into  a 
scrape." 

"I  don't  understand,  Dave.  If  you  didn't  prom 
ise—?" 

"Well,  I  may  have  said  something  or  other  to  her," 


232  HECLA   SANDWITH 

he  replied  carelessly.  "The  girl's  a  little  fool.  When 
women  are  in  love  with  you,  you  have  to  talk  as  though 
you  intend  marrying  them,  whether  you  mean  it  or  not." 

Hecla  looked  at  her  brother.  "Dave,  Dave,"  she  mur 
mured.  "Oh,  Dave !"  It  was  an  almost  unbelievable 
glimpse  into  her  brother's  character.  "You  admit,  then, 
that  you  have  wronged  her !" 

"It's  like  you  to  come  out  here  and  make  a  scene,"  he 
met  her  sullenly.  "So  you  would  like  me  to  marry  her, 
would  you?" 

"I  want  you  to  marry  her  if  it  is  your  duty,  Dave. 
If  what  Christy  Pickle  says  is  true — "  She  stopped  in 
shame  for  him,  desperate  over  the  unspeakable  thing 
that  bound  Dave  and  the  girl  together. 

He  watched  her  with  feelings  of  rage  and  discom 
fiture.  He  had  an  easy  code  of  conduct  and  blamed 
Clover  for  her  weakness  in  loving  now  that  she  had  put 
him  in  an  awkward  position.  It  was  not  what  he  had 
done,  but  Hecla's  way  of  taking  it  that  made  him  ill-at- 
ease. 

"I  thought  you  were  so  particular  about  the  people 
who  came  into  the  family,"  he  sneered. 

"I  think  I  am  more  particular  about  those  who  are 
already  in  it,"  she  returned  proudly.  Then,  moved  by 
her  affection,  she  bent  over  and  kissed  his  cheek.  "Do 
not  be  offended  with  me,  Dave,"  she  entreated.  "I  have 
not  come  to  reproach  you.  I — I  do  not  know  what  a 
man's  temptations  are.  I  only  want  you  to  do  your  duty." 

"I  don't  intend  that  you  shall  dictate  my  duty." 

"You  mean  that  you  are  not  going  to  marry  her  ?" 

"Yes." 

"But,  Dave,  you  must !  Don't  you  see  you  must  ?  For 


THE    SCENE    BEGINS    TO    CLOUD       233 

Clover's  sake — for  the  sake  of  your  own  good  name?"' 

"And  how  will  you  compel  me  ?" 

"Compel  you  ?    That  ought  not  to  be  necessary !" 

"Well,  I  tell  you  once  for  all,  I'm  my  own  master 
and  I  don't  propose  marrying  Clover  Littlepage,  no 
matter  what  you  say." 

"Dave,  she  trusted  you  and  you  must  keep  your 
word !" 

"I  must  ?  How  can  you  make  me  ?  Perhaps,"  he  re 
torted  bitterly,  "you  and  Wentworth  think  because  fa 
ther  made  you  trustees  you  have  the  right  to  manage  all 
my  affairs!"  Then  ironically:  "Are  you  going  to  re 
fuse  to  hand  over  the  legacy  he  left  me  ?" 

"My  father  left  you  the  greater  legacy  of  his  name/' 
she  answered  with  a  quick  flush,  "and  it  is  my  duty  as 
his  daughter  to  s,ee  that  that  name  is  not  disgraced! 
Dave,"  she  solemnly  implored,  "surely  you'll  do  what 
your  honor  requires  of  you?" 

"And  if  I  don't  ?" 

She  sat  mute  and  pale  for  a  moment.  Could  she  re 
sort  to  such  desperate  means?  Was  she  abusing  her 
power?  Yet  she  must  save  him,  and  there  was  no 
other  way. 

"I  shall  not  sign  the  April  lease,"  she  said  in  reso 
lute  tones. 

He  laughed  derisively.  "And  to  whom  will  you  lease 
the  Works,  may  I  ask?" 

"I  shall  find  some  one." 

"I  suppose  you're  thinking  of  Wentworth." 

"No,  I  do  not  mean  Wentworth." 

"Who  then?" 

She  hesitated.    "Eichard  Hallett." 


234  HECLA    SANDWITH 

Dave's  contemptuous  smile  faded.  "Hecla,"  he  said 
uneasily,  "you  know  you  wouldn't  do  anything  of  the 
sort.  You  are  trying  to  force  me  by  threats." 

"I  am  forcing  you  to  do  your  duty,  Dave." 

"You've  no  right  to  refuse  to  sign  the  lease !" 

"My  father  gave  me  the  right." 

"I  understand.  You  want  to  marry  the  English 
man." 

"You  know  that  is  not  true." 

"It  is  true." 

"No !  Mr.  Hallett  is  nothing  to  me,  Dave ;  I  refused 
him  many  months  ago.  And  that  is  not  the  question. 
It  is  your  duty  to  marry  Clover.  Father  would  have 
wished  it — he  would  have  approved  of  my  position.  I 
will  never  sign  a  new  lease  unless  you  do  what  I  ask — 
what  I  know  I  have  the  right  to  ask  of  you."  She  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands  saying,  "Dave,  Dave !"  heart- 
brokenly. 


CHAPTER  II 

PEACE  ABOVE  ALL   EARTHLY  DIGNITIES 

Robins,  housed  in  the  maples  that  lined  the  streets 
of  Dunkirk,  were  singing  through  the  May  shower. 
The  silver  rays  of  rain  slanted  against  Harmony's 
waterproof  as  she  walked  along  the  uneven  pavements 
and  splashing  in  small  pools  fluttered  around  her  feet 
like  myriad  white  moths. 

Harmony  had  come  into  town  obedient  to  a  sum 
mons  from  her  uncle,  Gideon  Sandwith.  She  had  made 
request  to  be  received  as  a  member  of  the  Society  of 
Friends.  Quarterly  Meeting  began  the  following  First 
Day,  and  her  Aunt  Deborah  had  deemed  the  approach 
ing  session  an  appropriate  time  for  her  acceptance. 
Harmony  had  been  spending  the  last  few  days  in  her 
room  preparing  for  the  solemn  act,  and  it  was  reluct 
antly  that  she  now  came  to  Dunkirk.  The  message 
from  her  uncle  surprised  her;  she  could  not  guess  why 
he  wished  to  see  her. 

On  reaching  her  uncle's  house,  Harmony  found 
Hetty  busily  preparing  for  the  arrival  of  Quarterly 
Meeting  guests.  Hetty  prized  cleanliness  as  a  virtue 
exceeding  godliness  and  had  far  greater  fear  of  criti 
cism  on  her  housekeeping  than  because  of  Christian 
shortcomings.  Having  had  the  house  swept  from  gar- 

235 


236  HECLA    SANDWITE 

ret  to  cellar  she  was  now  on  her  knees  running  a  hair 
pin  along  the  cracks  of  the  wainscoting;  for  Hetty 
pursued  dirt  to  its  last  hiding-place. 

"Wipe  thy  feet  well/'  she  ordered,  "and  don't  make 
puddles  on  the  carpet  with  thy  umbrella.  I'm  nearly 
distracted,  Harmony!  Guess  what  Uncle  Gideon  did 
last  night  while  walking  in  his  sleep !  I  put  my  cream 
pies  on  the  cellar  floor  to  cool  and  this  morning  I 
found  the  print  of  heels  and  toes  on  the  whole  half- 
dozen.  I  don't  see  why  Uncle  Gideon  gets  out  of  a 
comfortable  bed  to  wander  about  the  house  in  the  dead 
of  night,  unless  his  conscience  troubles  him.  He  has 
thee  on  his  mind  at  present.  Thee  ought  to  have  seen 
how  glum  he  looked  when  he  heard  thee  was  going  to 
join  Meeting!  I  suspect  he  thinks  thee's  pretending 
thee's  convinced  in  hope  of  catching  Benjamin  True- 
love.  He's  coming  by  to-night's  stage,  and  Aunt  Deb 
orah  says  he's  still  looking  for  a  wife.  He  seems  to 
have  a  hard  time  finding  one."  Hetty  had  never  for 
given  the  young  Quaker  seer  his  neglect  of  her  the 
night  of  the  supper-party  at  Burnham.  "Well,"  she 
added  with  a  little  laugh  of  relish,  "Friend  Truelove 
will  see  his  prediction  of  trouble  through  Dave  is  com 
ing  true.  How  does  thee  like  thy  new  sister-in-law, 
Harmony?  I  suppose  Dave  has  suited  his  taste,  but  I 
can't  see  why  one  marries  skim  milk  when  one  has 
had  cream  all  one's  life." 

Harmony's  eyes  filled  with  tears  at  this  cruel  refer 
ence  to  her  brother  and  his  marriage,  which  had  taken 
place  a  few  days  before.  "Clover  is  a  very  sweet  girl, 
Hetty,"  she  answered.  Then  after  a  pause:  "Are  you 
not  mistaken  about  Uncle  Gideon  ?" 


PEACE    ABOVE    ALL  237 

"Thee  means  about  his  not  wanting  thee  to  join 
Meeting?  No,  I'm  not,"  Hetty  returned  positively. 
"And  mark  my  words !  There  is  something  behind  his 
scruples  in  regard  to  new  members.  He  ought  to  be 
glad  to  have  people  join,  considering  how  small  the 
Meeting's  grown.  They  say  sleep-walkers  always  tell 
their  secrets.  I  wish  I  had  been  one  of  my  cream  pies, 
and  maybe  I'd  have  heard  the  real  reason !  Well,  that's 
done  anyway,"  she  sighed  as  she  rose  from  her  knees. 
"I  warrant  Friend  Hannah  Fisher  can  poke  around 
the  house  and  not  find  any  dirt  to  talk  about  after  she 
leaves.  Now  I  must  go  bake  more  pies." 

"Then  I  think  I  had  better  go  into  the  parlor  and 
wait  for  Uncle  Gideon.  I  feel  a  little  tired." 

"Thee  always  wants  to  sit  in  the  best  room  like  a 
visitor,"  Hetty  complained  as  she  grudgingly  opened 
the  parlor  door.  "Don't  let  the  buttons  of  thy  gloves 
scratch  the  furniture — it's  just  been  rubbed — and  if 
thee  sees  a  moth  be  sure  to  slap  at  it." 

Harmony  sat  in  the  darkened  room  with  eyes  closed 
wearily  and  an  ache  at  her  heart.  What  Hetty  had 
said  of  her  uncle's  objection  to  her  joining  Meeting 
awakened  in  her  a  new  fear  of  spiritual  unworthiness. 
Her  bitter  quarrel  with  her  sister  had  destroyed  her 
peace  of  mind  for  months,  and  she  had  been  beset  by 
moments  of  temptation  when  it  seemed  impossible  to 
renounce  earthly  love.  Had  she  finally  achieved  that 
renunciation?  she  asked  herself.  There  were  moments 
still,  she  knew,  when  memory  stole  into  her  heart  like 
fragrance  of  rain-wet  heliotrope  through  the  barred 
window  of  a  cell.  At  last  she  heard  Gideon  Sandwith's 
heavy  tread. 


238  HECLA    SANDWITH 

Gideon  was  the  youngest  of  the  three  Sandwith 
brothers.  Ill  health  had  increased  the  moroseness  of 
his  nature.  On  coming  to  central  Pennsylvania  he 
had  invested  in  ore  lands  which  supplied  the  needs  of 
his  brother  Joshua's  furnace  and  was  accounted  well 
off.  Hetty  accused  her  uncle  of  being  niggardly  and 
waited  with  some  anxiety  for  the  time  to  arrive  when 
she  might  claim  her  fortune  from  her  guardian's 
hands,  fearing  from  the  reluctant  manner  in  which  he 
doled  her  out  her  yearly  income  she  might  have  some 
trouble  in  obtaining  the  principal.  She  discreetly  hid 
her  misgivings  from  her  uncle;  for  it  was  understood 
Hetty  Wain  would  inherit  Gideon  Sandwith's  fortune. 

Harmony  was  always  ill-at-ease  in  Gideon  Sand 
with's  society,  and  the  interview  was  a  painful  ordeal. 
He  broached  at  once  the  subject  of  her  joining  Meet 
ing,  and  with  every  question  he  asked  her  concerning 
her  convictions  the  delicate  flower  of  her  spirit  seemed 
to  fold  more  tightly  its  petals,  and  she  spoke  in  a  low, 
difficult  voice,  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  carpet.  At  length 
there  was  silence,  in  which  Gideon  Sandwith  sat  with 
his  hands  clasped,  his  thumbs  alternately  lapping  one 
another  in  the  machine-like  way  familiar  to  her  from 
watching  him  on  the  elders'  bench.  The  litany  of  the 
steadily  falling  rain  filled  the  room  and  the  grayish 
light  straining  through  the  window-shades  gave  the 
homely  snuff-colored  face  of  the  Quaker  the  hard  ex 
pression  of  a  graven  image.  There  were  no  curves  in 
Gideon  Sandwith's  countenance.  Two  lines  running 
from  the  eyes  to  the  corner  of  the  mouth  made  a  tri 
angle.  It  seemed  as  if  religion  had  stamped  his  solid 
visage  with  a  hard  geometric  symbol  of  eternity. 


PEACE    ABOVE    ALL  239 

"Well,  Harmony/'  he  admitted  cautiously,  in  a  grat 
ing  voice,  "thee  seems  acquainted  with  Friends'  doc 
trine;  but  that  is  the  letter  of  the  law,  and  there  is 
likewise  the  Spirit  to  consider.  If  thee  is  sincere  in 
thy  professions  thee  is  willing,  I  presume,  to  discard 
the  worldly  attire  thy  stepfather  permitted  thee?" 

"I  never  cared  for  gay  clothes,  uncle." 

"But  does  thee  intend  to  put  on  the  plain  dress  ?" 

"Aunt  Deborah  did  not  speak  of  it,"  she  faltered; 
"and  I  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  do  so." 

"Thy  aunt  has  been  too  lax  with  thee,"  was  the 
harsh  answer.  "If  thee  hesitates  at  this  sacrifice  of 
thy  vanity  thy  religious  feelings  can  not  be  deep.  Thee 
had  best  wait  until  thee  is  truly  prepared  for  the  sol 
emn  act  thee  meditates." 

Gideon  Sandwith's  eyes,  hard  as  agate,  gleamed  with 
secret  eagerness  through  their  heavy  lids,  and  he  leaned 
forward  as  if  to  catch  words  of  assent  that  fell  in  with 
some  plan  of  his  own.  Harmony  saw  nothing  of  this 
and  understood  no  motive  behind  his  questionings. 
She  sat  in  agitation,  half -convinced  by  his  words.  Love 
of  dress  was  not  a  weakness  with  her,  but  she  had  all  a 
shy  girl's  dislike  of  attracting  notice  through  so  radical 
a  change  in  her  appearance.  She  knew  her  uncle  had 
no  right,  according  to  the  Discipline,  to  examine  her 
or  impose  conditions  on  her  entering  Meeting,  and  for 
a  moment  she  had  the  impulse  to  tell  him  so;  but  the 
mood  was  followed  instantly  by  the  feeling  that  his  at 
titude  after  all  was  just. 

"Thee  may  be  right,  uncle,"  she  murmured,  express 
ing  this  final  thought,  "and  I  shall  think  over  what 
thee  has  said."  And  she  rose,  anxious  to  escape  from 


240  HECLA    SANDWITH 

his  presence.  Gideon  Sandwith  accompanied  her  to 
the  door. 

"Consider  carefully,  Harmony,"  he  insisted;  "for 
this  may  mean  thee  has  still  a  lurking  love  of  the  World 
and  its  ways.'7 

She  was  hurrying  by  the  home  of  Mrs.  Seaborn 
Oliver  when  a  rap  on  the  window  arrested  her.  She 
glanced  up  and  saw  her  aunt's  long  face  gazing  dis 
mally  at  her.  A  stately  wave  of  the  hand  beckoned  her 
indoors. 

"Wentworth  is  absent  from  home  on  business,  Har 
mony,"  she  said  in  a  voice  so  mournful  that  she  began 
to  weep  at  the  sound  of  it,  "and  my  niece  hastens  by 
the  house  without  thought  of  me.  If  I  should  die  I 
doubt  whether  Hecla  and  you  would  find  time  to  pay 
your  respects  to  my  departing  corpse." 

"Would  you  like  me  to  spend  the  night  with  you, 
Aunt  Seaborn?"  Harmony  asked,  repressing  her  long 
ing  for  her  own  little  room,  which  at  that  moment  was 
like  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock. 

Mrs.  Oliver  was  too  affected  to  speak,  but  she  moved 
her  sad  brow  in  token  that  the  proposal  was  grateful 
to  her,  and  her  niece  as  sadly  took  off  her  bonnet. 

During  the  evening  Mrs.  Oliver  gave  Harmony  no 
time  to  weigh  her  spiritual  problem.  It  was  the  exac 
tion  of  her  society  that  conversation  should  be  restricted 
to  herself  and  her  own  emotions.  She  had  the  egotism 
of  melancholy,  which,  like  a  willing  weed,  flourished 
under  continual  watering.  Ready  tears  were  proof  to 
her  that  she  possessed  a  temperament  exquisitely 
strung.  Not  to  be  able  to  weep  was  inability  to  feel, 
and  with  the  widowed  lady  feeling  was  everything. 


PEACE    ABOVE    ALL  241 

She  considered  herself  misunderstood  by  the  world  and 
frequently  refused  to  see  visitors,  and  afterward  la 
mented  her  friends'  neglect.  Seldom  did  she  leave  her 
house  except  to  attend  church  and  Wednesday  evening 
prayer  meetings  and  funerals,  in  which  she  took  a  sol 
emn  sympathetic  satisfaction.  Her  figure  was  like  a 
moving  sermon  on  its  way  to  the  house  of  worship 
reared  by  the  Reformed  Presbyterians  of  Dunkirk. 
She  advanced  with  somber  stateliness,  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ground,  her  brass  communion  token  slipped  in 
the  palm  of  her  black-gloved  hand  that  clasped  a  large 
volume  of  the  Psalms  of  David. 

Mrs.  Oliver  had  new  matter  to  mourn  over.  She  could 
actually  drown  herself,  she  assured  Harmony,  in  the 
tears  she  had  shed  over  David's  marriage.  To  think  of 
the  son  of  her  poor  dead  sister  bringing  a  common  girl 
like  Clover  Littlepage  into  the  family !  It  would  never 
have  happened  had  Mrs.  Sandwith  lived  to  dispense  her 
refining  influences ;  but  what  could  one  expect  of  David 
with  a  stepfather  who  boasted  of  his  democratic  tastes — 
who  had  no  respect  for  blood !  Wentworth  was  different. 
WentwortJi  would  never  forget  what  was  due  to  their 
common  Hamilton  ancestry.  She  had  long  prayed  that 
Wentworth  might  find  a  wife  worthy  of  him  and  the 
mother  that  bore  him.  She  had  hoped  he  would  marry 
Ehoda  Markham;  she  had  expected  much  would  come 
of  Ehoda's  recent  visit  to  Burnham.  But  Wentworth 
had  shown  himself  strangely  indifferent  to  Rhoda.  It 
was  the  first  time  she  had  cause  to  complain  of  Went- 
worth's  want  of  consideration  for  her  and  her  loneli 
ness.  She  desired  Rhoda  Markham  for  a  daughter;  she 
was  sure  she  would  be  a  comfort  to  her.  There  was 


242  HECLA    SANDWITH 

something  wrong  with  Wentworth.  He  was  reserved 
where  once  she  had  shared  his  inmost  thoughts.  She 
had  to  admit — with  tears — that  she  no  longer  under 
stood  her  son.  He  did  not  care  for  her  any  more.  No 
body  cared  for  her.  The  world  had  no  pity :  her  nieces 
no  heart.  No,  no,  Harmony  need  not  try  to  comfort 
her.  She  would  weep;  her  tears  should  have  their  way 
— she  always  let  them  have  their  way !  She  was  a  dis 
appointed  mother — and  she  prayed  that  she  might  soon 
be  taken ! 

Harmony  went  to  bed  exhausted  with  her  aunt's 
lachrymose  one-sided  conversation.  It  was  early  dawn 
when  she  woke.  Yielding  to  her  desire  to  escape  she 
left  the  house  without  seeing  her  aunt. 

The  streets  of  Dunkirk  were  still  dim  with  the  gray 
light  that  heralded  approaching  day,  and  the  air,  misty 
from  the  rain  of  the  night  before,  wrapped  the  trees 
and  gave  mystery  to  familiar  things.  It  was  so  early 
that  window-shutters  were  still  closed  on  the  plain 
limestone  houses  of  the  town,  and  there  was  no  sign 
of  life  save  the  sleepy  twitter  of  birds  nesting  in  the 
maples.  As  Harmony  went  slowly  homeward  some 
thing  in  the  aspect  of  the  May  morning — its  sweetness 
and  stilled  quality — made  her  think  of  the  dawn  on 
which  the  three  Marys  had  visited  the  sepulcher  of 
their  Master;  and  the  memory  of  the  Gospel  reading 
stirred  her  heart  with  pure  aspirations. 

It  was  with  something  akin  to  awe  that  she  noticed 
coming  toward  her  in  the  hazy  half-light  the  figure  of 
Benjamin  Truelove.  The  gray  cloth  of  his  plain  cos 
tume  toning  with  the  atmosphere  made  him  from  a 
distance  part  of  the  nature  of  the  morning;  and  there 


PEACE    ABOVE    ALL  243 

was  something  suggesting  the  apparitions  of  sleep  in 
his  deliberate  advance.  With  hands  clasped  behind  him 
and  his  calm  youthful  face  bowed  he  came  forward. 
They  were  now  close  to  each  other  and  he  recognized 
her.  Then  without  speaking,  as  if  they  were  meeting 
on  some  high  plane  of  spiritual  comprehension,  he 
clasped  both  her  hands  in  his  and  looked  into  her  eyes 
with  a  steadfast  candor. 

They  stood  thus  earnestly  regarding  each  other  in 
the  dim  morning  light,  Harmony  with  her  deep  brown 
eyes  lifted  in  timid  sweetness  to  the  preacher's  face. 
She  did  not  wonder  how  it  chanced  that  Benjamin  True- 
love  had  sought  the  hushed  outer  world  at  an  hour  so  un 
usual.  The  meeting  seemed  indeed  to  be  natural,  even 
preordained.  After  a  full  minute  of  silence  he  spoke 
in  the  voice  which  was  the  golden  gift  of  his  ministry, 
saying:  "I  have  a  message  for  thee.  Be  thou  faithful 
unto  death,  and  I  will  give  thee  a  crown  of  life."  Then 
with  a  slow  smile  he  gently  loosed  her  hands  and 
passed  on,  his  head  once  more  bowed. 

Harmony  continued  her  way,  caught  up  into  an  at 
mosphere  of  serene  joyfulness.  The  cross  of  the  plain 
costume  seemed  all  at  once  a  trivial  thing,  of  no  weight 
for  her  shoulders  to  bear.  Her  fears  and  doubts  melted 
as  the  thin  mist  around  her  dissolved  in  the  growing 
light  of  the  daytime. 

As  she  reached  the  path  that  led  from  the  highway 
across  the  fields  to  Burnham  the  round  sun  reddened 
over  the  green  hills  behind  her,  and  the  quickening 
effulgence  shooting  its  rays  along  the  landscape  seemed 
also  to  brighten  her  inner  world. 

Heavy  dew  beaded  the  lush  meadow-grass  over  which 


244  HECLA    SANDWITE 

her  lengthened  shadow  flitted.  At  length  her  eye  fell 
on  this  flickering  silhouette  of  herself  and  then  she  no 
ticed  a  wonder  which  transfixed  her  as  the  last  most  re 
markable  experience  of  the  strange  morning.  About 
the  head  of  the  shadow  was  a  soft  silver  radiance  like 
an  aureole.  She  paused  to  gaze,  advanced  a  step:  the 
silvery  aureole  followed,  floating  on  the  opal-strewn 
grass-blades.  Again  she  stopped,  her  heart  throbbing, 
a  slight  feeling  of  f aintness  come  upon  her.  She  feared 
to  credit  the  miracle,  yet  a  voice  within  her  seemed  to 
say  the  aureole  symbolized  the  stored-up  crown  of  life 
that  Benjamin  Truelove  had  promised  her  as  reward  of 
Christian  faithfulness.  Harmony  had  often  been 
abroad  at  sunrise,  but  atmospheric  conditions  had  per 
haps  never  been  such  as  to  produce  the  phenomenon, 
or  it  may  be  her  senses  less  quickened  had  failed  to 
notice.  She  did  not  suppose  it  had  ever  happened  to 
any  one  but  herself;  she  was  not  aware  that  Benvenuto 
Cellini,  the  first  recorded  observer  of  the  haloed  hu 
man  shadow,  had  written  in  his  biography  four  hun 
dred  years  before  how  Heaven  had  vouchsafed  to  him 
this  same  miracle.  He  had  viewed  his  sanctification  in 
complacent  mood;  but  Harmony  sank  on  her  knees  in 
the  damp  herbage  and  the  silent  prayer  that  stirred  her 
lips  was  the  Heaven-going  incense  of  humility. 


CHAPTEE  III 


Hecla  and  Hetty  Wain  were  driving  home  after  a 
round  of  country  visits.  It  was  an  afternoon  late  in 
June  and  the  golden  landscape  swam  in  the  wavering 
heat.  The  dusty  road,  bound  by  stone  walls,  over  which 
wild  clematis  clambered,  cut  rippling  miles  of  wheat 
white  for  the  scythe ;  and  beyond  these  everywhere  were 
outlines  of  blue  mountains. 

Hecla  leaned  back  on  the  seat,  indifferent  to  the 
drowsy  beauty  of  the  day,  and  Hetty,  her  eyes  bright 
and  restless  as  a  chipmunk's,  looked  through  the  low 
ered  window  of  the  coach  taking  note  of  every  object 
passed.  Weary  of  combating  her  cousin's  unresponsive 
mood,  she  had  at  last  left  her  to  her  own  thoughts. 

Hecla's  thoughts  were  far  from  happy  ones.  The 
last  month  had  brought  further  worry  and  trouble  to 
her.  A  quiet  marriage  between  Dave  and  Clover  Littlo- 
page  had  taken  place  shortly  after  Hecla's  conversation 
with  her  brother  on  that  subject.  Hecla  had  not  re 
gretted  the  painful  attitude  she  had  taken  about  the 
marriage:  she  was  convinced  that  she  had  done  right 
and  that  her  father  would  have  approved  her  action. 
But  the  humiliation  of  it — the  hasty,  almost  clande 
stine  wedding;  Dunkirk's  gossip  and  ill-natured  insinu- 

245 


246  HECLA    SANDWITH 

ations,  family  dissatisfaction — all  this  had  been  hard  to 
bear,  and  Hecla  had  suffered  the  more  because  she  had 
proudly  concealed  her  feelings  from  others. 

She  had  not  only  defended  Dave,  she  had  carried  her 
loyalty  and  affection  for  her  brother  so  far  as  to  go  to 
see  his  wife  immediately  after  the  wedding  to  ask  her 
to  make  her  home  at  Burnham.  Clover  had  declined 
Hecla's  offer.  This  was  in  great  measure  due  to  Hetty, 
who,  curious  to  know  the  extent  of  Dave's  folly,  had  in 
sisted  on  making  this  first  visit  with  Hecla,  saying: 
"Well,  I  suppose  as  long  as  Clover  Littlepage  is  in  the 
family  one  might  as  well  be  polite."  Hetty's  idea  of 
politeness  had,  however,  manifested  itself  in  such  an 
unfortunate  manner  that  Clover  was  highly  offended. 
On  arriving  at  Mrs.  Littlepage's  boarding-house  where 
David  and  his  wife  were  living,  Hetty,  while  waiting  for 
her  new  relative  to  enter  the  parlor,  employed  herself 
peeping  into  chimney  closets  and  other  nooks  in  hope 
of  finding  disorder.  During  the  visit  she  had  ostenta 
tiously  taken  a  seat  directly  in  front  of  a  hole  in  the 
carpet.  Picking  up  an  ornament  from  the  table  she 
had  carefully  dusted  her  gloves  after  replacing  it. 
Finally  she  had  capped  her  petty  insults  by  comment 
ing  on  the  flies  buzzing  on  the  window-panes,  saying 
demurely:  "Thee  knows  Beelzebub  is  Lord  of  Flies 
and  we  ought  to  strive  against  the  devil !"  In  response 
to  Hecla's  reproaches  when  they  had  left  the  house, 
Hetty  had  remarked  defiantly:  "Well,  she  ought  to  be 
taken  down.  Any  one  could  see  how  set  up  she  was 
over  entering  our  family." 

Hecla  was  thinking  of  the  marriage  between  Dave 
and  Clover  as  the  coach  rolled  along.  It  had  been  the 


TEMPEST  24? 

only  honorable  thing  for  him  to  do,  and  yet  what  were 
the  consequences  of  the  marriage  to  be?  Already  stor 
ies  were  rife  in  Dunkirk  of  Dave's  neglect  of  his  wife 
and  of  his  excessive  drinking.  Hecla  refused  to  believe 
the  former  charge  but  she  could  not  deny  to  herself 
that  whenever  she  had  seen  her  brother  of  late  he  had 
shown  signs  of  being  under  the  influence  of  liquor, 
She  recalled  how  the  sordid  background  of  Mrs.  Little- 
page's  boarding-house,  now  David's  home,  and  where  he 
came  into  intimate  contact  with  his  own  clerks,  had 
grated  on  her.  She  thought  of  Mrs.  Littlepage  her 
self,  a  good,  colorless  soul,  weak-willed  and  inefficient. 
And  Clover,  pretty,  affectionate,  well-meaning,  but 
how  lacking  in  true  qualities  of  wifely  helpfulness! 
So  this  was  what  she  had  brought  her  brother  to ! 
Was  it  to  be  expected  that  he  would  ever  rise  and  over 
come  his  growing  weaknesses  with  such  a  wife,  such 
surroundings?  She  feared  he  never  would.  And  once 
more  came  over  her  an  oppressive  sense  of  life's  com 
plexity:  how  after  all  even  the  most  conscientious  acts 
can  be  fruitful  of  ill ;  how  often  the  fatality  of  circum 
stance  seems  to  give  the  lie  to  principles  of  right  and 
wrong. 

The  coach  had  reached  the  brow  of  a  hill  and  Hetty 
suddenly  interrupted  her  cousin's  meditations  by  ex 
claiming  : 

"Hecla,  there's  Eichard  Hallett  on  the  road  ahead 
of  us!" 

Hecla  sitting  up  adjusted  her  bonnet  with  a  hasty 
hand ;  on  seeing  which  Hetty  tinkled  the  tea-bell  of  her 
laugh. 

"I  thought  that  would  bring  thee  to  life,"  she  said 


248  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

teasingly;  and  as  the  coach,  overtook  the  tall,  heavy 
figure  of  the  Englishman,  she  called  out:  "Won't  thee 
ride  the  rest  of  the  way  with  us?"  And  Hetty  opened 
the  coach-door  invitingly. 

Eichard  Hallett  stood  aside  for  the  passing  wheels 
and  at  the  stop  he,  glancing  over  Hetty's  shoulders, 
saw  Hecla's  face.  "Thank  you,  I  should  be  glad  if  it 
will  not  inconvenience  you,"  he  said.  The  tone  includ 
ed  Hetty  but  the  glance  of  inquiry  was  directed  at 
Hecla.  Hecla  was  too  troubled  and  nerve-wrought  to 
wish  to  talk  to  him.  While  out  of  courtesy  she  desired 
his  acceptance  of  the  invitation,  she  regretted  the 
chance  meeting. 

Hetty's  tongue  rattled  on  in  unison  with  the  coach- 
wheels.  She  pretended  not  to  notice  Hecla's  restraint. 
Any  additional  society  was  grateful  to  her,  and  in  tor 
menting  her  cousin  she  revenged  herself  for  the  dull 
ness  of  the  drive. 

Eichard  Hallett  gave  only  perfunctory  heed  to  what 
she  said,  and  at  the  first  pause  he  remarked  to  Hecla : 

"I  was  sorry  not  to  see  you  when  I  last  called  at 
Burnham." 

"I  was  on  a  short  visit  to  my  married  sister,  Lucia," 
she  answered. 

"You  have  been  well,  I  hope?" 

"Yes,  quite  well,  thank  you." 

Hallett,  who  had  not  seen  her  for  weeks,  thought 
she  looked  almost  ill.  Hetty  divined  the  lover's  unex 
pressed  criticism  and  hastened  to  expose  it. 

"Hecla  looks  worn  out,  doesn't  she,  Mr.  Hallett? 
She's  a  paragon  of  family  devotion,  thee  knows.  I  tell 
her  if  sometimes  she  spared  herself  she'd  spare  her 


TEMPEST  249 

family.  Self-preservation  is  the  first  rule  of  life,  I 
say !" 

"It  is  a  selfish  rule,  Miss  Wain."  Eichard  Hallett 
hardly  attempted  to  conceal  his  dislike  of  the  pretty 
chatterer  in  the  drab  dress. 

"Hetty's  trying  to  canonize  me,"  Hecla  answered, 
with  dismissing  lightness.  Her  devotion  to  brothers 
and  sisters  was  a  subject  she  cared  least  to  discuss,  as 
Hetty  was  aware. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  was  Hetty's  retort.  "If 
thee's  a  saint  then  thee  finds  thy  Leghorn  bonnet  more 
becoming  than  thy  aureole.  I  hope  thy  mining  schemes 
come  on  well,  Mr.  Hallett.  One  hears  such  varied  ac 
counts;  but  Dunkirk  always  begrudges  success.  I  sup 
pose  thee  doesn't  mind  disagreeable  remarks  being 
made.  By  the  way,  has  thee  any  knowledge  of  farm 
ing?  Perhaps  thee  can  tell  me  how  they  get  rid  of 
sneeze-weed  in  England.  My  cows  have  been  eating  it, 
and  it  spoils  their  milk.  And  isn't  it  true  if  thee  twists 
a  calf's  tail  thee  will  make  its  spine  crooked?  I  caught 
the  Flack  children  at  it,  Hecla,  the  last  time  I  was  at 
the  farm.  We  must  stop  there  to-day  as  we  go  by. 
Flack  sent  word  the  barn  needs  shingling  and  I  want 
to  talk  to  him  about  it.  Thee  doesn't  know  what  is 
good  for  sneeze-weed,  then,  Mr.  Hallett?"  Hetty  ended 
demurely. 

"I  never  heard  of  the  weed,  Miss  Wain." 

Hecla  saw  that  he  was  annoyed  at  her  cousin's  im 
pertinence,  and  she  said  hastily: 

"I  think  we  had  better  not  stop  at  the  farm  to-day, 
Hetty.  Mr.  Hallett  is  anxious,  I  know,  to  reach  Dun 
kirk." 


250  HECLA    SANDWITH 

"I  can  easily  spare  the  time,  Miss  Sandwith." 

The  Flack  farm  was  where  her  mother  died  and 
Hecla  seldom  cared  to  visit  it,  and  to-day  it  was  par 
ticularly  against  her  wish.  Hetty  promptly  met  the 
unuttered  objection  by  saying:  "I  tell  thee  what  thee 
might  do  while  I  am  looking  at  the  barn.  Take  Mr. 
Hallett  to  see  Warrior's  Eock.  It  ought  to  interest  him ; 
it's  one  of  our  natural  wonders." 

"I  should  like  the  walk,  Miss  S'andwith,  if  you  are  so 
disposed,"  Hallett  said  eagerly. 

"I  am  sorry,  but  isn't  it  too  warm  for  walking?" 
The  tone  was  discouraging,  and  increasing  sultriness 
made  the  excuse  a  valid  one.  Hecla  thought  Hetty  had 
never  been  more  vexing  and  inconsiderate. 

"Thee  knows  thee's  afraid  the  grass  will  stain  thy 
new  silk." 

Hallett  looked  at  Hecla's  lavender-and-white  striped 
gown  with  its  angel  sleeves  and  square-cut  bosom,  which 
showed  under  folds  of  Brussels  lace  the  white  neck 
encircled  by  a  gold  chain  and  locket.  Hetty  had  been 
envious  all  that  afternoon  over  her  cousin's  becoming 
array  which  contrasted  so  richly  with  her  own  plain 
costume. 

"I  did  not  think  of  that,"  the  Englishman  said  apolo 
getically. 

Hecla  resented  his  remark  but  she  let  it  pass  un 
challenged.  They  had  drawn  up  at  the  farm  and  Grace 
Anna,  the  farmer's  wife,  was  seen  hurrying  across  the 
paddock  carrying  a  new-born  lamb  in  her  arms.  She 
had  on  a  sunbonnet  like  a  hollyhock  and  under  her 
linsey-woolsey  skirt  showed  her  bare  feet  "let  out  to 
pasture,"  as  she  would  have  put  it.  "Well  now,"  she 


TEMPEST  251 

ejaculated  in  a  sing-song  voice,  "if  you  ain't  a  sight 
for  sore  eyes,  Miss  Heckly!  Hain't  seen  ye  sence  yer 
father  died,  hev  I?  'T  was  appleplexy  on  the  brain, 
so  they  tell  me.  My !  what  a  grand  funeral  it  was,  with 
all  the  county  rich  an'  poor  folleren'.  How's  thet  little 
brother  a  yourn?  Jest  ez  poorly?  No  wonder,  w'en  ye 
mind  the  heart-renderen'  way  he  come  into  the  light. 
I  was  thinken'  about  it  w'en  I  took  this  new-born  lamb 
away  from  its  dead  maw.  Light  and  set  a  while,  won't 
ye?  Miss  Hetty,  my  man  has  a  bealt  jaw  on  top  a  his 
brownchitis,  but  you'll  want  to  do  most  of  the  talken', 
I  guess !" 

"Thank  you,  Grace  Anna,"  Hecla  said  hastily,  "but 
I  am  going  to  walk  to  the  Eock.  I  think,  after  all,"  she 
added  to  Hallett,  "I  should  rather  do  that  than  wait 
here."  And  she  got  out  of  the  carriage  anxious  to  escape 
the  farmer's  wife,  who  seldom  saw  her  without  dwelling 
on  her  mother's  death. 

The  path  to  the  Eock  skirted  a  plowed  field  under 
the  shadow  of  spreading  apple-trees.  Overhead  the  sky 
was  a  vast  dome  of  pure  azure,  and  the  air  bubbled 
caldron-like  with  the  blithe  notes  of  birds.  Piled  up 
on  the  horizon  behind  them,  however,  were  masses  of 
slate-colored  clouds  that  quivered  into  golden  seams. 
But  neither  Hecla  nor  Eichard  noticed  the  threat  of 
storm.  She  was  thinking  of  her  mother  thus  rudely 
referred  to,  and  Eichard  was  happy  in  being  unexpect 
edly  alone  with  the  woman  he  loved. 

Walking  the  furrows  was  a  solitary  young  figure  in 
blue  blouse  and  straw  hat,  with  a  "poke"  thrown  over 
one  shoulder.  It  was  Farmer  Flack's  "hireling,"  en 
gaged  in  sowing  sunflower  seed  to  keep  off  fever  from 


252  HECLA    SANDWITH 

the  house.  As  he  swung  his  arm  they  heard  him  singing 
the  verse  of  an  old  farm  ballad : 

"And  the  years  passed  on  as  the  years  will  do, 

And  the  good  old  farmer  di-ed; 
He  left  to  the  lad  the  farm  that  he  had 
And  his  daughter  for  a  bri-ide." 

As  the  cheerful  young  barytone  voice  reached  them 
Hecla  turned  to  her  companion: 

"Mr.  Hallett,  do  you  not  feel  sometimes  all  the  happi 
ness  in  the  world  is  for  the  working-people?" 

"No,  I  do  not  think  that,"  he  smiled,  yet  respecting 
her  mood,  "for  I  too  have  my  share  to-day." 

They  walked  on,  and  the  refrain  followed  them : 

"For  to  plow  and  to  sow, 
To  reap  and  to  mow 
And  to  be  a  farmer's  boy." 

A  stile  led  into  the  next  field  where  the  path  zig 
zagged  through  deep  sun-warmed  herbage.  Bees  tugged 
at  the  pink  nipples  of  clover;  butterflies  on  thin  wings 
of  leaf-gold  flitted  from  queen's  lace  to  clustering 
cowslip  stalks;  and  meadow  larks  shot  their  little  ar 
rows  of  song  into  the  air.  They  breathed  the  mingled 
sweetness  wrung  from  the  earth  and  it  seemed  natural 
to  walk  on  in  silence. 

Hecla  had  thrown  back  her  long  veil,  and  she  gazed 
around  her  with  longing  that  the  light  and  joy  of  na 
ture  might  enter  her  heart.  Eichard  caught  a  fleeting 
glance  and  answered  its  sad  wistfulness  with  a  look 


TEMPEST  253 

that  expressed  his  sympathy  better  than  words.  She 
knew  that  he  loved  her,  and  his  long  reserve  on  the 
subject  of  his  feelings  gave  her  a  new  kindliness  to 
ward  him.  Hecla's  worry  over  Dave  and  his  marriage 
had  left  her  in  a  state  of  mind  and  body  that  found 
comfort  in  her  lover's  society.  His  strength,  his  posi 
tive  character,  did  not  antagonize  her  to-day;  her  old 
fear  of  him  had  departed. 

Beyond  the  meadow  was  a  shelving  belt  of  woods 
through  which  they  passed  to  Warrior's  Eock,  a  rugged 
crag  overlooking  a  sheer  precipice  of  great  depth. 

Hecla  had  meant  to  remain  only  long  enough  to 
satisfy  her  companion's  curiosity  regarding  the  place, 
but  the  warmth  had  taxed  her,  and  she  yielded  to 
Richard's  ready  suggestion  that  they  seat  themselves  for 
a  while. 

For  a  few  moments  they  gazed  at  the  view  without 
comment,  she  leaning  against  a  wind-beaten  dwarf 
cedar  that  rose  like  a  flag-staff  through  a  crevice  in  the 
rock,  he  seated  at  a  respectful  distance.  Hecla  was 
not  a  woman  to  be  affected  deeply  by  nature,  but  to-day 
she  felt  calmed  and  rested  by  the  scene  before  her. 
Below,  a  stream  made  a  broad  silver  curve  around  a 
swelling  hill,  and  far  away  across  timbered  miles  of 
broken  landscape  rose  clustering  mountain  peaks  be 
hind  which  the  sun  was  sinking  in  floods  of  light.  Whirls 
of  azure  smoke  from  hidden  farms  dreamed  in  the  tran 
quil  air;  and  the  only  sounds  that  reached  them  from 
the  leafy  world  far  beneath  were  the  noisy  brawl  of  the 
stream  and  occasional  tinkle  of  cow-bells. 

After  some  moments  of  musing,  Hecla,  arousing  her 
self  out  of  her  silent  mood,  asked  her  companion  about 


254  HECLA    S'ANDWITH 

his  work  at  Snow  Shoe.  He  talked  of  this  for  some 
time,  telling  her  of  the  rugged  life  he  led,  of  the  handi 
caps  and  difficulties  that  beset  him,  finally  ending  an 
account  he  endeavored  to  make  interesting  to  her  by 
saying:  "Your  cousin  suggested  that  many  people  in 
Dunkirk  have  little  faith  in  the  success  of  my  mining 
enterprise.  The  unfavorable  opinion  of  the  world 
doesn't  discourage  me.  I  have  never  failed  so  far  in  any 
aim  of  my  life ;  and  so  I  go  on  quietly  with  my  present 
work,  confident  that  Dunkirk  will  in  time  have  to  alter 
its  judgments." 

He  had  expressed  his  belief  in  himself  in  much  the 
same  language  the  day  that  he  had  proposed  to  Hecla, 
and  it  evoked  a  sudden  uncomfortable  memory  which 
caused  her  to  rise  from  her  seat. 

"Don't  go,"  he  begged,  "I  have  wanted  to  see  you 
alone  like  this;"  and  something  in  his  tone  made  her 
tremble  a  little.  "I  was  on  my  way  to  Burnham  to  call 
on  you." 

"I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Hallett,"  she  murmured,  '*but  it  is 
growing  late,  and  my  cousin  will  be  waiting  for  us." 

He  had  offered  her  his  hand  to  assist  her  in  rising 
and  the  touch  affected  him  so  strongly  that  he  faced 
her  now  with  a  look  in  his  eyes  which  was  an  open 
declaration  of  his  love.  As  she  met  his  gaze  it  seemed 
to  her  he  had  said  already  the  words  she  dreaded  to 
hear;  and  turning  from  him  hastily  she  began  moving 
up  the  path.  He  did  not  at  once  follow,  for  he  was 
struggling  for  self-control.  His  coming  to  Dunkirk  that 
day  had  been  a  resolve  born  of  weeks  of  longing  and 
disturbing  dreams,  and  the  passion  in  him  had  only 
quieted  during  the  walk  to  the  Eock  because  Hecla 


TEMPEST  255 

had  surrounded  herself  with  a  reserve  that  seemed  to 
forbid  the  mention  of  love.  But  their  talk  had  dis 
pelled  this  feeling  and  the  touch  of  her  hand  had  power 
fully  reawakened  his  emotion. 

Hecla  was  already  hidden  by  the  trees  as  he  started 
after  her.  He  had  gone  but  a  step  when  a  gust  of  wind 
broke  through  the  woods,  scattering  the  dried  oak- 
leaves  around  his  face  like  a  flight  of  bats.  He  quick 
ened  his  pace  at  the  flash  of  lightning  which  followed. 
Seated  with  their  backs  toward  the  point  from  which 
the  sudden  storm  had  rolled  up,  they  had  not  noticed 
the  ominous  twilight  that  was  falling  on  the  day. 

Hecla  had  disappeared.  Evidently  she  had  taken 
alarm  and  was  hurrying  on  in  hope  of  reaching  the 
farm-house  before  the  storm  broke.  He  saw  at  once 
that  she  could  not  accomplish  this.  A  second  long  red 
lash  of  lightning,  laid  upon  the  backs  of  the  fleeing 
clouds,  drove  them  overhead  and,  as  the  roll  of  thunder 
died,  rain  stung  the  leaves  like  showering  bullets.  Hal- 
lett  moved  on  through  the  darkened  woods,  and  at  the 
opening  he  saw  a  glimmering  white  figure  clasping  a 
tree-trunk  for  support,  as  the  gale  whipped  the  meadow- 
grass  into  leaping  silver  lines. 

"Hecla,"  he  called,  unconsciously  using  her  first 
name,  as  he  approached.  She  did  not  hear,  and  her 
face  blanched  with  a  wild  terror  was  concealed  from 
him.  Her  soft  dress  strained  against  her  bent  knees 
and  her  long  white  veil  partly  detached  fluttered  be 
hind  her  like  a  signal  of  distress. 

"Hecla,"  he  called  again  as  he  drew  near.  This  time 
she  caught  the  sound  of  his  voice.  As  she  turned  her 
head  he  had  a  momentary  glimpse  of  her  pallor  and 


256  HECLA    SANDWITH 

the  strange  dark  look  of  her  dilated  eyes.  Simul 
taneously  a  flash  of  lightning,  like  a  three-rayed  star, 
brightened  the  air  and  with  a  cry  she  ran  to  him  and 
buried  her  face  on  his  breast.  A  clap  of  thunder  dead 
ened  their  ears  as  if  Heaven  bore  witness  to  the  sur 
render  of  weakness  to  strength. 

As  he  stood  holding  her  to  his  heart  the  white  veil 
writhing  in  the  wind  wound  itself  about  his  neck  tying 
them  together. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   WATCHES    OF   THE   NIGHT 

Hecla  that  night  slept  from  utter  exhaustion,  but  in 
the  dark  hour  before  dawn  she  started  awake  at  the 
sound  of  a  passing  shower.  She  listened  to  the  rain 
falling  until  the  monotonous  sound  brought  back  the 
previous  day's  experience. 

At  first  she  recalled  only  the  terror  to  which  she  had 
succumbed  at  sight  of  the  menacing  sky.  Her  pres 
ence  of  mind  had  deserted  her  at  the  first  flash  of  light 
ning  which  burned  the  air  as  she  gained  the  opening 
of  the  woods.  She  knew  she  had  cowered  there  fight 
ing  fierce  gusts  of  wind,  dreading  to  advance  or  retreat. 
What  followed  was  still  vague,  but  she  felt  that  some 
thing  momentous  lurked  in  the  history  of  that  half- 
hour.  Having  witnessed  her  mother's  death  from  light 
ning  she  was  abnormally  fearful  of  thunderstorms. 
They  seemed  to  her  to  personify  all  which  ruinously 
concerned  itself  with  her  destiny.  It  was  out  of  a 
lightning-seared  heaven  her  young  imagination  had 
pictured  fate  leaning,  looking  with  malign  intention  on 
the  world. 

Hecla's  powers  of  reasoning  were  not  highly  devel 
oped,  and  the  melancholy  in  her  blood  inclined  her 
somewhat  bitterly  to  the  crude  creed  of  the  fatalist.  To 

257 


258  HECLA    SANDWITH 

her  Providence  seemed  a  power  that  hated  the  world 
and  contrived  against  human  happiness.  The  birth  of 
little  Jervis,  which  had  cost  her  a  mother,  had  always 
seemed  one  of  those  ironies  of  life  hy  which  it  tries  to 
palliate  its  injustices.  With  years  of  growing  girlhood 
and  the  lessons  they  brought  her,  her  conviction  had 
increased  that  fate  smiled  only  to  conceal  its  subtle 
schemes  against  mortal  hopes  and  plans.  Life  was  a 
loom  where  a  hand  was  ever  ready  to  give  a  grim  twist 
to  the  brightest  threads. 

As  she  lay  with  the  darkness  on  her  lids  her  mind 
groped  for  recollection.  Then,  with  the  energy  that 
comes  to  those  who  wake  in  the  night-time,  she  began 
piecing  together  all  that  had  happened  during  the 
storm;  how  she  had  fainted  and  come  to  again  in  the 
farm-house  whither  Eichard  Hallett  had  borne  her, 
the  horror  of  awakening  in  the  very  room  where  her 
mother  had  died,  and  the  drive  back  to  Burnham  with 
Hetty  and  Hallett.  Her  half-unconscious  actions  at 
the  moment  when  the  storm  had  broken  and  she  had 
sought  refuge  in  the  Englishman's  arms  gradually  took 
clear  outline,  like  an  etcher's  plate  over  which  acid  is 
poured.  The  significance  of  it  all  came  to  her  with 
suddenness — with  alternate  chill  and  burnings  of 
shame.  She  felt  Hallett's  arms  again  about  her  putting 
her  under  that  spell  of  his  physical  magnetism  against 
which  she  had  contended  almost  from  their  first  meet 
ing.  In  the  desperation  of  her  present  revolt  she  sat  up 
in  bed  clasping  the  bed-clothes  with  trembling  hands. 

She  believed  that  she  was  compromised,  henceforth 
committed  to  Eichard  Hallett,  if  he  should  enforce  his 
purpose  to  make  her  his  wife,  as  she  felt  sure  he  would 


THE    WATCHES    OF    THE    NIGHT       259 

do.  Strictness  of  behavior  toward  men  had  been  part 
of  her  family  tradition,  and  her  father's  constant  cau 
tions  added  their  weight.  This  reserve  she  had  rashly 
forfeited  under  the  influence  of  physical  fear.  The 
outcome  was  inevitable — she  had  forged  her  fate. 

Abhorrence  of  it  gripped  her  there  in  the  dark.  She 
felt  she  hated  this  lover  who  had  taken  advantage  of 
her  distress,  her  blind  emotions,  who  had  not  and  never 
would  understand  her,  who  would  feel  it  his  duty  to 
follow  up  what  he  was  bound  to  regard  as  a  confession 
of  her  love — that  she  had  accepted  him.  He  could  claim 
her  now  as  his  right. 

Then  reaction  of  hope  came.  There  was  surely  some 
escape!  She  did  not  see  what  it  was,  but  she  felt  it 
must  be  somewhere.  It  could  not  be  that  she  must 
marry  against  her  will. 

Yet  if  she  must  marry !  There  was  at  least  this  con 
solation  that  as  Hallett's  wife  she  would  solve  the 
problem  of  her  relationship  to  Wentworth;  erect  for 
ever  a  barrier  against  his  love. 

Outside,  far  away,  came  like  the  horn  of  victorious 
strife  the  sound  of  a  chanticleer  greeting  the  slow- 
creeping  dawn — dim  bugle  at  the  very  outpost  of 
ghostly  light.  Now  it  was  echoed  by  other  feathered 
sentinels.  The  solemn  notes  grew  nearer  until,  a  lusty 
fanfare,  they  rose  from  her  own  barnyard.  Then  the 
sounds  passed  on  like  a  wave  and  died  out  in  the  dark 
ened  west.  Another  day  was  come  and  in  dread  of  what 
it  held  she  closed  her  eyes,  resolved  to  forget  in  sleep. 

When  she  woke  it  was  amid  the  full  light  of  day.  She 
lay  languidly  a  while,  listening  to  the  doves'  constant 


260  HECLA    SANDWITH 

sobbing  in  the  walnuts  outside  her  casement,  and  there 
stole  over  her  senses  the  dewy  fragrance  of  a  clear  July 
morn.  Molly  Tucker,  the  old  family  servant,  entered 
after  a  little,  bringing  her  a  tray  of  breakfast.  She 
informed  her  that  Christy  Pickle  had  called  the  even 
ing  before,  after  Hecla  had  been  put  to  bed.  She  had 
left  no  message,  but  had  told  Molly  she  had  just  come 
back  from  a  visit  to  the  farm  and  that  Clover  was  not 
very  well.  The  farm  was  the  one  Joshua  Sandwith  had 
left  his  stepson,  and  Dave  had  lately  sent  Clover  there 
for  needed  change  as  her  confinement  approached. 

"Was  that  all  she  said,  Molly  ?"  Hecla  asked. 

"That's  all  she  said,  but  that  weren't  the  only  reason 
she  come,  I  reckon,"  was  the  reply.  "Xoah,  he  was  out 
at  the  Forge  store,  and  he  says  he  heerd  the  men  talken' 
about  some  trouble  between  Mister  Dave  and  Jerry 
Brown,  and  how  Jerry  had  thrown  up  his  job  at  the 
furnace." 

Hecla  asked  no  more  questions  and,  dismissing 
Molly,  quickly  dressed  herself.  She  was  convinced  that 
Christy  Pickle  had  called  at  the  house  on  some  serious 
mission  she  did  not  wish  to  mention  to  Molly  Tucker. 
That  it  concerned  Clover  she  had  no  doubt,  and  she 
decided  she  would  drive  out  at  once  to  the  farm.  She 
paid  little  heed  to  Noah's  gossip;  the  trouble  between 
David  and  the  founder  did  not  impress  her  as  a  matter 
of  any  consequence. 

The  carriage  had  gone  a  short  distance  only  when 
Christy  Pickle  was  seen  tramping  along  the  road,  evi 
dently  on  her  way  to  Burnham.  Hecla  stopped  and 
bade  the  old  woman  take  a  seat  beside  her.  "I  am  driv 
ing  out  to  the  farm,"  she  said.  "Tell  me  what  has  hap- 


THE    WATCHES    OF    THE    NIGHT       261 

pened !  Is  Clover  much  worse  ?  Or/'  she  added  a  little 
bitterly,  "have  you  some  new  complaint  to  make  against 
my  brother  ?" 

"'Tain't  me,  it's  Clover  ez  otta  be  doen'  the  com- 
plainen'/'  was  Christy's  grim  retort.  "They  ain't  seen 
hide  ner  hair  a  Dave  outen'  the  farm  fer  three  days, 
and  the  girl's  worryen'  herself  sick.  It's  a  shame,  that's 
wot  it  is,  the  way  Dave's  neglecten'  her !  Ah  thot  w'en 
he  morried  he  was  goen'  to  settle  down  and  behave  his- 
self  proper,  but  now  Clover's  in  the  state  she's  in  he's 
runnen'  with  other  girls  agen.  It's  a  blessen'  she's  got 
a  mother  that's  flat  on  her  back  ez  can't  march  out  and 
tell  her  Dave's  latest  doen's.  Ah  warned  Alpharetta 
Brown  they'd  be  trouble  if  she  let  Dave  fool  around 
her,  and  now  Jerry's  got  mad  and  swears  he  won't  do 
another  stroke  a  work  at  the  furnace.  Ah  jest  let  him 
hev  his  way,  fer  it'll  be  a  lesson  to  Dave." 

"And  why  do  you  tell  me  all  this  ?" 

Hecla  had  listened  mutely  to  Christy's  tale,  too  ex 
hausted  mentally  and  physically  to  attempt  her  broth 
er's  defense. 

"Why,  so's  ye'll  lend  a  helpen'  hand  'bout  Clover. 
She's  lonely  out  there  without  her  mother — not  that 
Matildy  Littlepage  'd  ever  be  wuth  a  hill  a  beans  to  any 
liven'  soul.  It's  my  belief  Dave  took  Clover  out  to  the 
farm  so  he'd  be  freer  about  his  frolicken's  in  town.  It's 
drink  that's  the  cause,  barren'  natural  ornariness,  of 
haff  Dave's  troubles.  Ez  Ah  hev  ben  tellen'  my  Mog  fer 
the  last  thirty  years,  it's  rum  ez  is  the  ruin  a  young 
men  an'  to  let  it  alone  Saturday  nights." 

"Dave  doesn't  drink  very  much/'  Hecla  faltered. 

"Doesn't,  hey?"  Christy  cried.    "They  ain't  a  day 


262  HECLA    SANDWITH 

passes  but  he  takes  his  nip.  Wot  Ah  fears  he'll  come 
home  drunk  one  a  these  nights  and  skeer  Clover  and 
then  Lord  knows  wot'll  happen  with  her  in  her  con 
dition.  She  otten  never  to  be  left  alone." 

"You  need  have  no  fear;  Clover  will  not  be  left 
alone.  I  shall  see  that  she  is  properly  looked  after." 

She  said  nothing  more,  but  let  Christy  Pickle  talk  on 
in  her  raucous  voice  until  they  reached  the  farm. 

The  farm  was  remotely  situated  at  the  foot  of  a  low 
mountain  gap  through  which  a  trout  stream  ran  tum 
bling  in  silvery  cascades  over  boulders  and  mossy,  black 
ened  logs,  as  it  worked  its  way  down  into  the  wide 
rolling  valley.  The  stone-built  farm-house  was  com 
fortably  large,  and  one-half  of  it  had  been  given  up  to 
Dave  and  Clover;  service  being  provided  by  Barbara 
Hockenberry,  the  farmer's  daughter. 

They  were  met  at  the  door  by  Barbara,  who  told  them 
Clover  was  no  better  and  was  asking  continually  for 
her  husband.  On  entering  the  living-room  they  found 
the  young  wife  lying  in  a  feverish  state  on  a  sofa. 
"Have  you  seen  Dave?"  was  her  first  question. 

"He  is  at  the  Works,  Clover,"  Hecla  answered.  "Dave 
told  me  he  had  received  an  important  order,  and  there 
is  trouble  with  the  founder,  so  probably  he  isn't  able  to 
leave.  But  don't  worry,  he'll  be  home  this  evening, 
I  am  sure." 

"No,  no,"  Clover  cried  hysterically,  "he  has  deserted 
me !  He  doesn't  love  me  any  more !" 

"Poor  thing !"  Christy  said,  trying  to  give  a  soothing 
tone  to  her  harsh  voice,  "now  don't  you  be  fretten' 
thataway.  Bed's  the  best  place  fer  ye  anyhow." 

They  put  her  to  bed,  and  Hecla,  as  Clover  continued 


THE    WATCHES    OF    THE    NIGHT       263 

to  grow  worse,  despatched  one  of  the  farm-boys  for  Doc 
tor  Proudfoot. 

During  the  anxious  hours  of  waiting  for  the  doctor 
Hecla  wandered  down  to  the  kitchen  with  the  inten 
tion  of  preparing  some  delicacy  for  her  sister-in- 
law.  The  kitchen  showed  the  conscientious  tidiness  of 
,the  Pennsylvania-German  maid,  whose  voice  could  be 
heard  in  the  sunny  garden  cheerily  singing  one  of 
Sauer's  ancient  hymns  in  dialect. 

Hecla  moved  to  the  door  and  stood  for  a  moment 
looking  out  on  the  spreading  valley.  The  rich  summer 
sunlight  flooded  the  golden  acres  of  grain  dappled  by 
the  light  breeze ;  the  orchard  drooped  under  the  burden 
of  its  slowly  ripening  fruit;  and  from  the  daisy-dotted 
grass  came  the  blithe  whistle  of  quail. 

Barbara  Hockenberry  made  a  bright  note  in  the 
foreground.  She  was  a  big-bosomed  blonde  girl  in  a 
brown  sunbonnet,  green  skirt  and  blue  apron,  and  had 
inherited  from  her  thrifty  German  ancestors  inveterate 
cheerfulness  and  passion  for  toil.  She  was  now  on  her 
knees  in  the  kitchen  garden  picking  peas.  Barbara  had 
a  romantic  attachment  for  what  she  called  "wedgatable 
tings."  She  planted  them  according  to  "the  book/'  as 
Baer's  Almanac  was  usually  termed.  There  were  vege 
tables  that  must  be  planted  in  "the  down-going"  and 
vegetables  that  must  be  planted  in  "the  up-going." 
Barbara's  explanations  regarding  these  mysterious  in 
fluences  were  not  very  clear,  but  it  seemed  that  they 
were  connected  with  the  signs  of  the  Zodiac. 

"Barbara,"  Hecla  said,  "have  you  been  taking  good 
care  of  Mrs.  Sandwith  ?" 

"Oh,  yah,  I  dake  goot  care.    Yacob,  he  vant  me  to 


264  HECLA    SANDWITH 

marry  him  put  I  says,  chust  you  vait  and  ton't  pother, 
I  says.  Missus  hain't  had  her  papy  yet  a'ready — that's 
vat  I  say  to  Yacob.  Ten  mebbe  I  vill,  and  mebbe  I 
von't."  Barbara  made  a  hole  in  the  brown  soil  with  a 
red  finger  encircled  by  a  brass  ring.  "Vat  you  sink?" 
she  confessed  with  a  blush.  "Las'  night  I  ate  a  salt 
cake  an'  I  tremt  a  Yacob.  Put  ton't  you  go  tell!  I 
ton't  guess  I  marry  Yacob  nohow.  He  sits  in  rocking- 
chairs  an'  I  ton't  like  lazy  folks." 

Hecla  was  in  the  living-room  a  little  later  when  she 
heard  steps  on  the  porch.  She  went  hastily  to  the  door 
thinking  it  the  doctor.  It  proved  however  to  be  Bay- 
letts,  the  old  book-keeper  at  the  Works. 

"Christy  here  ?"  he  demanded  in  his  laconic  style. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Bayletts,  she's  with  my  sister.  Do  you  wish 
me  to  call  her  ?" 

"Yes.  Want  to  see  her  about  Brown." 

She  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"Brown's  quit.  Furnace  can't  be  run  without  him." 

"Did  my  brother  send  you,  Mr.  Bayletts  ?" 

"No,  Dave  had  a  fight  with  Archy  McSwords.  Gone 
off  to  the  mountains.  Want  Christy  to  make  Brown 
come  back." 

"But  Christy  can't  leave  my  sister,  who  is  very  ill." 

"No,  Christy  can't  an'  wot's  more  Christy  won't  nei 
ther,"  said  the  shrill  voice  of  the  person  in  question  who, 
hearing  conversation  at  the  door,  came  down  stairs. 
"Ye  go  about  your  business,"  she  continued,  addressing 
Bayletts,  "an'  don'  ye  bother  me  ez  to  Jerry  Brown  an' 
the  furnace.  W'en  Dave  acts  decent  I'll  fix  things 
straight  at  the  Works,  an'  not  befur !"  And  Christy  re 
turned  to  the  sick  chamber. 


THE    WATCHES    OP    THE    NIGHT       265 

Bayletts  shook  his  head.  "Things  pretty  bad,  Miss 
Heckly,"  he  said.  "Ah,  if  Joshua  was  alive !  No  trouble 
when  he  run  the  Works.  He  knew  how  to  manage  I" 

When  the  old  book-keeper  departed,  Hecla,  heart 
sick  over  what  she  had  heard,  mounted  to  Clover's 
room,  where  she  endeavored  to  conceal  her  depression 
from  her  sister-in-law.  Her  brother  in  more  trouble, 
and  wandering  in  the  mountains!  What,  alas,  was  to 
be  the  outcome  of  it  all  ?  she  despairingly  asked  herself. 

At  length  Doctor  Proudfoot  arrived.  The  farm-boy 
had  found  him  asleep  on  his  horse,  which  was  quietly 
grazing  by  the  wayside.  In  the  old  physician's  hand  was 
a  worn  copy  of  Ovid,  with  which  he  entertained  himself 
on  his  long  country  rounds.  Clover's  condition  he  ad 
mitted  to  be  serious.  He  gave  her  a  sleeping  draught, 
and  warned  Hecla  and  Christy  to  guard  the  invalid  from 
any  excitement,  saying  a  shock  might  be  productive  of 
fatal  consequences.  As  he  left  he  took  Hecla's  hand 
and  patted  it  sympathetically.  "You  don't  look  well," 
he  said,  "and  you  must  promise  me  you'll  try  to  rest 
to-night.  If  you  aren't  careful  we'll  have  another  pa 
tient  on  our  hands."  Then  as  he  rode  off:  "I  shall  be 
out  again  early  in  the  morning." 


CHAPTER  V 

SOWED   COCKLE,,   UXREAPED  COEN 

Bayletts'  visit  to  the  farm  in  search  of  Christy  Pickle 
had  been  the  result  of  the  situation  at  the  Works.  Jerry 
Brown  had  thrown  up  his  job  as  founder  the  day  before 
on  discovering  Dave's  relations  with  his  daughter  Alpha- 
retta,  while  Archy  McSwords  on  learning  what  had  hap 
pened  swore  that  he  would  kill  the  young  iron-master 
the  next  time  he  saw  him  for  meddling  with  his  sweet 
heart. 

It  was  Saturday  morning,  the  day  when  the  weekly 
allowance  of  beef  was  distributed  among  the  hands. 
Before  daybreak  the  beeves  were  killed  and  quartered 
and  brought  down  to  the  cellar  of  the  Forge  store. 
Here  the  meat  was  cut  up  into  smaller  portions  by  the 
carpenter  and  assistants  and  placed  in  pigeon-holes 
lining  the  cellar  walls ;  the  cuts  being  covered  up  by  the 
bones.  When  all  was  in  readiness  Joe,  the  jigger-boss, 
fired  his  rusty  old  flintlock  to  announce  that  the  sale 
was  to  begin.  The  iron-workers  crowding  into  the 
cellar  had  the  liberty  of  hesitating  over  their  choice  of 
pigeon-holes,  but  handling  the  meat  had  the  penalty 
attached  expressed  in  rhyme  by  Joe  as  he  limped  about 
keeping  watch  over  his  customers: 

"You  can't  buy  land  without  stones; 
And  you  can't  buy  beef  without  bones: 
Touch  and  take!" 
266 


SOWED  COCKLE,  UNREAPED  CORN     267 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  scene  of  barter  that  Archy 
McSwords  had  appeared  in  a  tipsy  state  and  tried 
to  get  possession  of  Joe's  gun  with  which  to  shoot 
Dave  when  he  arrived  at  the  office.  But  Dave  did  not 
come,  and  it  was  finally  reported  that  he  had  been  seen 
drinking  in  the  tap-room  at  the  Red  Lion,  whereon 
Archy,  armed  with  a  cart-whip  in  lieu  of  the  jigger- 
boss'  flintlock,  departed  down  the  pike  in  the  direction 
of  Dunkirk,  bawling  his  slogan  of  "Phil  Hicks,  the 
boiler,  boom!"  and  cracking  the  ugly-looking  weapon 
in  his  hand. 

Half-way  to  town  he  espied  Dave,  and  planting  him 
self  in  his  path  he  shouted  to  him  to  come  on,  adding: 
"And,  by  God,  we'll  see  who's  the  better  man  this 
time !" 

Dave  was  not  slow  to  accept  the  challenge.  He,  like 
Archy,  was  far  in  liquor.  Before  he  could  reach  his 
adversary  the  lash  of  the  cart-whip  whirled  through  the 
air  and  cut  him  across  the  face,  raising  a  red  welt. 
Maddened  with  pain,  Dave  dashed  at  the  teamster,  and 
the  two,  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  rolled  on  the 
ground  struggling  like  furious  animals.  Fortunately 
some  workmen  were  at  hand,  and  the  two  men  were 
separated.  Archy  was  led  away  with  a  broken  wrist 
and  Dave,  his  face  bruised  and  bleeding,  was  taken  to  a 
neighboring  cottage  to  bathe  his  wounds. 

Though  the  fight  had  sobered  Dave  he  was  in  no  con 
dition  to  present  himself  at  the  office.  One  of  his  char 
coal  teams  was  passing  on  its  way  to  the  mountains  and, 
ashamed  of  being  seen  with  the  mark  of  Archy's  whip 
on  his  face,,  Dave  hailed  the  driver  and  getting  into  the 
wagon  drove  off  with  him  as  far  as  Custard's,  a  lonely 


268  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

inn  not  far  from  the  coalings.  Here  he  spent  the  rest 
of  the  day  drinking  and  playing  cards  with  the  moun 
taineers. 

It  was  nightfall  when  he  borrowed  a  horse  and 
started  back  to  his  farm.  His  condition  was  lamentable, 
and  remorse  had  awakened  in  him.  He  remembered 
his  wife's  critical  state  and  how  he  had  been  absent 
from  her  now  for  three  days.  It  was  after  midnight 
when  he  reached  home.  The  farm-house  was  wrapped 
in  silence,  the  only  light  coming  from  Clover's  bed 
chamber.  As  he  was  putting  his  horse  up  in  the  stall 
one  of  the  farm-boys  hearing  him  entered  the  stable. 
From  him  Dave  learned  what  had  taken  place  at  the 
farm  during  the  day :  that  Hecla  and  Christy  were  with 
his  wife,  and  that  Doctor  Proudfoot  had  been  sum 
moned  and  had  said  Clover  was  very  ill.  Not  wishing  to 
face  Hecla  in  his  sorry  state  and  seized  with  shame,  he 
flung  himself  on  a  heap  of  straw  near  the  fanning-mill. 

Hecla  had  obeyed  Doctor  Proudfoot's  injunction  and 
gone  to  her  bedroom.  But  she  could  not  sleep.  A  sense 
of  impending  misfortune  was  heavy  upon  her.  It  was 
a  warm,  moonless  night  and  through  the  open  window 
floated  the  fragrance  of  honeysuckle  vines  climbing  up 
the  side  of  the  house.  It  filled  her  chamber  with  appeal 
ing  sweetness  like  an  impalpable  presence.  Squirrels 
nesting  in  the  garret  overhead  scampered  to  and  fro  in 
their  play. 

She  lay  with  ears  alert  to  catch  sounds  that  would 
tell  her  of  Dave's  return,  and  as  the  hours  passed  and  he 
did  not  arrive,  her  depression  deepened.  It  was  hardly 
more  than  a  year  since  she  had  come  back  from  Lititz, 


SOWED  COCKLE,  UNREAPED  CORN  269 

and  how  much  trouble  and  change  the  year  held,  what 
ineffaceable  marks  it  had  left  on  her  life!  The  un- 
happiness  caused  by  Wentworth's  love  had  been  fol 
lowed  by  her  father's  death  and  grave  family  responsi 
bilities.  She  thought  of  the  gulf  that  divided  Harmony 
and  herself — a  gulf  that  was  still  unbridged;  of  her 
brother's  marriage  and  its  sorrowful  consequences.  She 
had  acted  conscientiously  in  forcing  her  brother  to 
marry  Clover,  but  how  bitter  was  the  recompense! 

As  she  pictured  to  herself  the  young  wife  lying  ill 
through  the  last  three  nights,  sleeplessly  wondering  over 
her  husband's  absence,  she  asked  herself  why  her  Aunt 
Seaborn  and  others  should  have  criticized  her  resolve 
to  remain  single.  Marriage !  What  broken  dreams,  what 
humiliations,  what  heart-aches  the  word  represented! 
Why  should  she  make  the  sacrifices  love  exacted — why 
tread  the  thorny  path  of  wives  ?  Her  complication  with 
Richard  Hallett,  the  thought  of  which  she  had  put 
aside  during  this  trying  day,  broke  over  her  like  a  sub 
merging  wave.  What  was  to  be  the  end  of  it?  Was  her 
future  to  be  bound  with  his  despite  the  fact  that  she  did 
not  love  him,  did  not  wish  to  be  his  wife? 

She  tossed  restlessly  on  her  bed.  The  honeysuckle 
made  the  chamber  oversweet,  breathing  upon  her  like 
passionate  human  lips.  She  tried  to  banish  the  thought 
of  Hallett  from  her  mind  and  her  heart  filled  with  emo 
tions  she  neither  understood  nor  tried  to  analyze.  At 
length  she  fell  into  troubled  slumber.  One  arm,  from 
which  the  sleeve  of  her  night-dress  had  slipped  back, 
lay  curled  across  her  face,  and  as  she  drifted  into  un 
consciousness  her  lips  pressed  against  the  soft  warm 
flesh.  She  was  dreaming  that  she  urged  her  horse 


270  HECLA    SANDWITH 

down  the  mountain  road  in  the  swimming  green  twi 
light  under  the  leaning  trees  on  her  way  home  from 
Moshannon  Hall.  Now  Wentworth  reached  her  and  his 
pleading  words  fell  on  her  ear.  But  it  was  no  longer  her 
cousin,  it  was  Eichard  Hallett  who  was  by  her  side. 
She  awoke  with  a  start,  fancying  she  heard  Clover  cry 
out  in  terror.  She  rose  quickly  from  her  bed  and  crossed 
the  hall,  listening  anxiously  at  her  sister-in-law's 
door-sill.  No  sound  came  from  within  and,  satis 
fied  Clover  was  still  under  the  influence  of  the  sleeping 
draught,  she  returned  to  her  room. 

It  was  not  dawn  yet  and  Hecla  moved  to  the  window 
looking  out  on  the  rear  of  the  house. 

A  thin  web  of  mist  lay  on  the  ground  and  in  the 
high  air  dim  white  stars  dotted  the  gloom.  From  the 
mountain  pines  a  mournful  sighing  came  and  she  could 
hear  the  stream  that  ran  through  the  farm  break  into 
low  drowsy  music.  She  was  turning  away  when  she 
suddenly  caught  sight  of  a  wandering  red  lantern 
gleam.  She  thought  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  it  was 
Dave  at  last.  The  glimmer  approached  and  she  watched 
curiously.  Then  she  saw  that  it  was  not  Dave,  but  Bar 
bara,  and  that  she  was  running  toward  the  house.  Lean 
ing  out  of  the  window  she  cried  sharply :  "What  is  the 
matter  ?" 

"Mister's  gone  and  kilt  hisself  in  the  barn." 

Hecla  felt  a  sudden  singing  in  her  ears  and  two 
dazzling  disks  swam  before  her  eyes.  She  caught  hold 
of  the  window-ledge  for  support.  But  the  faintness  left 
her  as  she  remembered  Clover,  and  instead  of  weakness 
came  sudden  self-control.  Hastily  putting  on  some 
clothes  she  slipped  down  the  stairs  into  the  kitchen, 


SOWED  COCKLE,  UNEEAPED  CORN  271 

where  she  found  Barbara  who,  in  excited  gasps,  told 
what  she  had  seen  in  the  barn  when  she  had  gone  out  to 
milk.  Barbara,  having  related  her  story,  flung  herself  on 
a  chair  and  burst  into  hysterical  weeping.  Hecla  went 
to  her  and  taking  her  by  the  shoulder  said  in  a  stern 
undertone:  "Control  yourself." 

The  girl  ceased  crying,  sobered  by  Hecla's  manner. 

"Come  quickly,"  Hecla  said,  and  they  went  hurriedly 
toward  the  barn  in  the  darkness  that  still  shrouded  the 
landscape. 

The  barn  was  a  huge  structure  such  as  Pennsylvania 
farmers  take  pride  in  building.  Through  a  little  door 
cut  in  a  big  one  they  entered  the  interior,  hushed  and 
full  of  the  warm  fragrance  of  hay.  In  the  light  of 
the  lantern  Barbara  held  for  her  Hecla  saw  her  brother 
lying  on  the  threshing  floor,  his  head  against  the  fan 
ning  mill. 

Sickness  at  the  sight  of  blood  for  a  moment  overcame 
Hecla,  but  rallying  she  knelt  by  Dave's  side  and  felt 
his  heart.  It  was  still  beating.  Though  he  was  not 
dead  there  was  instant  need  of  checking  the  blood  which 
flowed  from  a  gash  in  his  bared  arm.  She  found  her 
handkerchief:  it  would  not  do,  and  she  ripped  off  the 
flounce  from  her  petticoat.  With  odd  memory  of  half- 
noted  things  coming  in  crises  of  life,  she  recalled  her 
father's  treatment  of  cuts,  and  she  desperately  tried  to 
make  an  effective  tourniquet.  Glancing  around  the 
floor  strewn  with  corn-cobs,  empty  bags  and  pieces  of 
old  harness,  her  eye  fell  on  the  sickle  with  which  Dave 
had  tried  to  end  his  life.  Ordering  Barbara  to  knock 
off  the  handle  of  this  she  tightened  the  bandage  around 
the  bleeding  arm. 


272  HECLA    S'AXDWITH 

"Take  hold/'  she  commanded.  And  together  they 
carried  the  body  through  the  dim  pallor  of  breaking 
dawn  to  the  house  and  laid  it  on  the  lounge  in  the  liv 
ing-room. 

They  were  laboring  to  restore  him,  when  Hecla 
heard  Christy's  voice.  It  brought  back  for  a  moment 
her  sensation  of  faintness.  If  Clover  should  find  out! 
She  got  on  her  feet  unsteadily.  "Do  what  you  can  un 
til  I  come  back/'  she  said  to  the  half-stupefied  maid. 

As  she  went  quickly  up  the  stairs  she  came  face  to 
face  with  Clover,  who  stood  in  her  night-dress,  her  hair 
streaming,  struggling  to  free  herself  from  Christy's 
restraining  hand.  "What  is  the  matter?"  she  cried. 
Before  Hecla  could  answer  she  caught  sight  of  the 
blood  on  Hecla's  arms  and  dress. 

"Dave!"  she  cried,  "something  has  happened  to 
Dave!" 

"No,  no,"  Hecla  said  in  terror,  "you  mustn't  go  to 
Dave ;  you  must  go  back  to  your  bed  !" 

"Don't  try  to  keep  me  from  my  husband,"  Clover 
wildly  answered,  and  thrusting  Hecla  aside  she  ran 
down  the  stairs. 

Hecla  uttered  a  cry  of  despair  as  she  saw  Clover  push 
open  the  door  of  the  living-room. 

During  his  sister's  absence  Dave  had  revived  suffi 
ciently  to  tear  the  bandage  from  his  arm,  and  blood 
was  again  spurting  from  the  cut.  Clover  hurried  for 
ward  and  fell  on  her  knees  by  the  lounge. 

"0  Dave,  Dave !"  she  moaned,  "how  could  you,  how 
could  you?" 

But  Dave  had  again  fainted  from  loss  of  blood. 

Christy  took    Clover   away,   and   Hecla   endeavored 


SOWED  COCKLE,  TJKREAPED  COEX     273 

once  more  to  secure  the  tourniquet.  As  she  was  doing 
this  she  saw  the  protruding  handle  of  an  ax  that  stood 
edge-upward  underneath  the  lounge  and  on  her  broth 
er's  fingers  woolen  strings  were  tied,  while  a  pungent 
smell  of  burning  salt  came  from  the  stove.  During  her 
absence  Barbara  had  applied  her  own  methods  of  stop 
ping  blood — methods  learned  from  the  wise  women  of 
Dutch  Valley. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  Hecla  exclaimed  to  the 
girl  when  she  reappeared. 

"I  vas  down  in  the  cellar,"  the  reply  was.  "Mister 
he's  goen'  to  tie  an  the  mother  in  the  winegar  vill  tie 
too  if  you  ton't  shake  it  an  preak  the  spell !" 

Hecla  looked  at  her  mutely. 

"Go  to  Mrs.  Sandwith,"  she  said  at  length. 

Early  in  the  morning  Doctor  Proudfoot  arrived.  He 
pronounced  Dave's  wound  not  dangerous;  although  he 
would  have  bled  to  death  had  Barbara  not  discovered 
him  in  the  barn. 

A  little  after  midday  Clover  was  delivered  of  a  still 
born  son. 


CHAPTER  VI 

LIKING   DRIVEN    TO    THE   NAME   OF   LOVE 

Harmony  came  out  next  day  to  nurse  Clover,  and  as 
Dave's  wound  gave  no  cause  for  further  alarm  Hecla 
felt  she  might  safely  return  to  Burnham  in  search  of 
rest. 

She  found,  on  reaching  home,  a  letter  from  Richard 
Hallett,  expressing  his  hope  that  she  had  experienced 
no  ill-effects  from  the  thunderstorm.  He  had  brought 
the  letter  the  day  after  the  occurrence  at  Warrior's 
Rock  and  had  then  learned  of  Hecla's  visit  to  the  farm. 

To  the  letter  Hecla  wrote  a  brief  reply  in  which  she 
begged  Hallett  not  to  come  to  see  her  for  some  days. 
She  felt  that  she  could  not  yet  meet  him  after  all  that 
had  happened;  could  not  in  her  present  state  of  mind 
give  him  the  answer  she  knew  he  would  claim  as  a 
lover's  right. 

The  horror  of  what  she  had  lived  through  at  the 
farm  was  like  a  heavy  shadow  on  Hecla's  heart  and 
mind.  Her  thoughts  dwelt  sadly  on  the  desolation  and 
misery  of  Clover's  married  life;  and  the  premature 
birth  of  the  baby  caused  by  the  wretched  wife's  dis 
covery  of  Dave's  attempted  suicide  had  powerfully  re 
awakened  in  Hecla  her  physical  dread  of  wedlock. 
Recalling  her  conversation  with  her  Aunt  Seaborn 

274 


THE    NAME    OF    LOVE  275 

Oliver  the  day  of  the  fateful  supper-party,  she  asked 
herself  why  so  many  women  could  look  upon  and 
even  welcome  marriage  as  a  necessary  part  of  their 
lives.  Marriage !  Ah,  what  tragedies  did  it  not  cover, 
what  heart-aches,  humiliations,  anguish !  And  she  had 
involved  herself  in  a  situation  where  honor  compelled 
her  to  yield  her  hand  to  Richard  Hallett !  She  shivered 
as  she  reflected  there  was  no  escaping  her  destiny — 
destiny  brought  about  by  circumstances  strangely  con 
nected  with  her  mother's  death.  No,,  she  could  not 
yet  receive  Eichard  and  listen  to  his  words  of  love. 
She  needed  more  time  to  compose  herself,  to  gather 
strength  for  meeting  the  sacrifice  she  must  make. 

Hecla  had  now  opportunity  to  ponder  her  own  prob 
lem.  Her  mind  was  in  some  measure  relieved  in  regard 
to  Dave.  She  had  left  him  sobered  by  the  peril  in  which 
his  conduct  had  thrown  his  wife,  Clover;  he  felt  keenly 
remorseful  that  his  attempt  to  take  his  own  life  had 
been  the  cause  of  his  son's  death.  Husband  and  wife 
appeared  more  reconciled  than  ever  they  had  been  in 
the  months  of  their  enforced  marriage.  Hecla  could 
but  hope  that  a  turning-point  in  her  brother's  career 
had  been  reached;  that,  sobered  by  the  trouble  he 
had  brought  upon  himself  and  those  who  loved  him, 
he  would  be  henceforth  a  better  man  morally  and  more 
faithful  to  his  business.  Hecla  eagerly  sought  to  believe 
in  the  sincerity  of  Dave's  vows  of  reformation,  not  only 
because  of  her  affection  but  also  because  her  father's 
letter  rested  a  sacred  command  on  her  conscience;  and 
she  could  not  yet  even  consider  the  idea  of  displacing 
David  at  the  furnace  by  offering  the  management  to 
Eichard  Hallett. 


276  HECLA    SANDWITH 

Fortunately  Dave  was  spared  further  trouble  respect 
ing  Jerry  Brown  and  his  post  as  founder.  Christy 
Pickle  had  intervened  between  the  young  iron-master 
and  his  aggrieved  employes.  Having  secured  from  the 
former  his  solemn  promise  that  henceforth  he  would 
show  himself  less  neglectful  of  his  wife  Clover,  the  old 
woman  put  on  her  black  sunbonnet  and,  tramping  off 
in  Meg's  boots  to  the  Works,  had  an  interview  with 
the  founder.  The  fruit  of  her  mission  was  that  Jerry  re 
turned  to  the  furnace  and  Alpharetta  to  her  home,  from 
which  she  had  been  driven  by  her  father  on  his  discovery 
of  her  intimacy  with  Dave.  Christy's  high-handed  effi 
ciency  accomplished  this  by  employing  her  potent  threat 
that  when  Jerry  Brown  came  to  die  she  would 
not  lay  him  out — "no,  neither  him,  Peggy,  ner  the 
ten  galls  neither."  A  similar  menace  had  the  effect  of 
calming  the  belligerent  spirit  of  Archy  Me  Swords,  who 
was  still  nursing  his  bruises  and  his  wrongs  as  Al- 
pharetta's  sweetheart. 

The  events  at  the  farm,  as  far  as  they  were  known, 
created  a  sensation  in  Dunkirk.  Dave's  attempted  sui 
cide  happily  did  not  become  meat  for  public  gossip, 
but  his  fight  with  his  teamster  and  the  reason  of  it 
was  generally  talked  over,  as  was  Clover's  premature 
confinement.  On  many  a  Dunkirk  door-sill  were  these 
matters  duly  discussed,  and  especially  on  the  ample 
Dutch  threshold  of  Mrs.  Tathem's  boarding-house. 
There  they  received  the  most  judicial  attention.  No 
one  was  indeed  more  eager  to  acquire  further  news 
than  Miss  Pinkie  Tathem,  upon  whose  appetite  the  ru 
mors  had  acted  as  olives  affect  a  gourmet's  palate.  She 
was  not  on  visiting  terms  with  the  Sand  with  family, 


THE    NAME    OF    LOVE  277 

but  on  some  pretext  of  wishing  to  see  Hecla  she  called 
the  day  after  the  latter's  return  from  the  farm. 

She  found  Hecla  sitting  in  the  little  island  arbor. 

"How  are  you  to-day,  Miss  Hecla?"  she  began  sweet 
ly.  "I  am  so  glad  to  find  you  able  to  be  up.  I  quite 
expected  you  would  be  prostrated  by  all  I  hear  you 
have  been  through.  But  as  I  said  to  ma,  now  really 
oughtn't  I  to  go  out  and  leave  our  message  of  sym 
pathy  for  poor  Miss  Hecla?  Of  course,  reports  are  aw 
fully  exaggerated — they  always  are — but  it  is  true, 
isn't  it,  that  your  brother  was  attacked  by  one  of  his 
teamsters  and  terribly  hurt  ?  Archy  McSwords !  The 
name  sounds  like  battle,  murder  and  sudden  death, 
doesn't  it  ?  And  he  was  a  soldier  in  the  Mexican  War, 
too.  I  should  think  you'd  want  to  tell  somebody  the 
real  facts,  so  all  these  stories  could  be  contradicted. 
People  do  talk  so.  As  I  often  remark  to  ma,  I  wonder 
how  the  world  can  take  such  an  interest  in  other  people's 
affairs.  Poor  Mrs.  David!  What  a  surprise  that  mar 


riage  was 


"Was  it,  indeed?" 

"Yes.  But  there's  another  marriage  soon  to  take  place 
that'll  surprise  people,  too.  Of  course  you  know  whose  ?" 

"No,  I  do  not  know,"  Hecla  answered  indifferently.. 

"Why,  I  mean  Mr.  Hallett's  !" 

"Mr.  Hallett's  ?" 

"Yes.  Don't  you  know  he's  engaged  to  be  married? 
You  look  surprised !  I  should  think  he'd  have  told 
you,  of  all  persons.  Perhaps  I  oughtn't  to  have  men 
tioned  it — it  wasn't  quite  considerate  of  me.  I  had 
quite  forgotten  how  attentive  he  used  to  be.  Burnham 


278  HECLA    SANDWITH 

was  the  only  place  he  visited  when  he  first  came  to 
Dunkirk,  wasn't  it?" 

"He  came  to  see  my  father." 

"One  can  believe  that  now" — and  Pinkie  laughed 
maliciously.  "But  he  certainly  was  devoted  to  your 
father,  Miss  Hecla !" 

"Whom  is  he  going  to  marry?"  Hecla  faintly  asked. 
The  news  affected  her  curiously.  She  caught  at  it  with 
inward  eagerness,  hoping  it  was  true  yet,  oddly,  she 
felt  a  sudden  hostility  toward  Pinkie  and  the  unknown 
girl. 

"Ehoda  Markham.  The  reason  we  never  see  him 
at  Dunkirk  is  he  spends  all  his  spare  time  at  Moshannon 
Hall." 

"I  think  you  must  be  mistaken,  Miss  Tathem." 

"Oh,  I  know  it's  true.  Mr.  Donovan  told  me  Mr. 
Markham  told  him  the  last  time  he  held  services  at  the 
Hall." 

When  finally  Pinkie  took  her  leave  Hecla  sat 
thoughtful  in  the  arbor.  While  she  felt  that  Eichard 
Hallett  would  not  have  treated  her  as  he  had  done  the 
day  of  the  storm  if  what  Pinkie  Tathem  said  was  true, 
yet,  she  asked  herself,  might  he  not  have  been  paying 
Ehoda  Markham  attentions  in  the  months  follow 
ing  her  father's  death  when  she  had  not  seen  him.  She 
was  surprised  to  find  how  much  feeling  the  possibility 
of  this  awakened  in  her  and  it  was  with  a  warmer  tide 
of  shame  she  realized  how  her  conduct  during  the 
storm  had  left  her  compromised. 

Several  days  passed  and  Hecla  rather  unreasonably 
— for  she  had  made  the  request  of  him — resented  the 


THE   KAME   OF   LOVE  279 

fact  that  Hallett  delayed  his  visit.  This  sentiment 
increased  as  still  another  day  passed  and  he  did  not 
come.  When,  however,  he  arrived  the  following  morn 
ing,  Hecla  regretted  his  call  and  occupied  herself  some 
little  time  in  her  room  before  descending,  seeking  the 
while  to  compose  herself.  On  reaching  the  parlors  she 
discovered  Little  Pitcher  there  talking  in  his  grave 
grown-up  way  with  the  visitor. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,  Mr.  Hallett," 
she  said  as  she  greeted  him.  "I  was  doing  up  a  parcel 
to  send  to  my  sister  Harmony." 

"Never  mind,  Sister  Hecla,"  the  child  broke  in. 
"Jervis  has  been  entertaining  Eichard  Hallett.  He 
has  been  showing  him  his  History  of  England" 

"Yes,"  Hallett  smiled.  "I  have  been  learning  all 
about  King  Alfred  and  the  cakes." 

"And,  sister,  Eichard  Hallett  has  seen  Queen  Vic 
toria  !  Would  you  like  Jervis  to  read  you  the  poem 
about  Old  Susan?"  the  child  continued,  addressing  the 
Englishman. 

"What  is  that,  Jervis  ?"  Hallett  asked. 

"Don't  you  know  about  that?"  Little  Pitcher  ex 
claimed  in  solemn  surprise.  "Jervis  will  go  and  get  his 
book."  And  he  ran  off  in  search  of  his  favorite  Jane 
Taylor. 

When  the  child  had  gone  it  was  with  a  kind  of  despair 
that  Hecla  listened  to  Eichard  Hallett's  words  of  love. 

"Hecla,  is  it  so  hard  to  feel  kindly  toward  me?"  he 
said  at  last,  noticing  her  unresponsiveness ;  and  he 
took  her  listless  hand  in  his  large  strong  clasp. 

She  murmured:  "I  am  not  myself  to-day." 


280  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

"I  understand.  You  feel  you  need  time  to  grow  ac 
customed  to  my  love." 

She  recovered  her  hand  and  sat  up  with  returning 
spirit.  "Yes,  that  is  true,"  she  answered.  "I  confess  I 
am  bewildered ;  I  do  not  know  what  to  say  or  think.  I 
am  not  able  yet  to  return  your  love.  I  respect  you,  ad 
mire  your  character,  but  you  must  give  me  time  for 
more." 

"You  shall  have  all  the  time  you  wish." 

"But,"  she  said  desperately,  "is  that  not  injustice  to 
you?  I  may  never  learn  to  care  more.  How  can  you 
be  satisfied  with  so  little?  Are  you  not  making  a  mis 
take?  I  doubt  that  it  will  ever  be  in  my  power  to  re 
spond  to  what  you  offer.  My  life  has  been  so  darkened 
and  changed  by  the  death  of  my  father.  I  find  it  hard 
to  do  the  things  duty  demands  of  me.  And  this  that  you 
ask — "  Her  voice  failed  her  for  a  moment  and  when 
she  spoke  again  it  was  with  a  defiant  thrill.  "Mr.  Hal- 
lett,  I  can  never  love  any  one  as  I  loved  my  father,  he 
was  everything  to  me."  She  knit  her  hands  together 
and  looked  away  from  him,  the  tears  springing. 

"I  honor  your  feelings,"  he  said  gently.  "I  do  not 
ask  more  than  you  have  to  give  me — at  present.  I  am 
content  to  bide  my  time."  Then,  after  a  pause :  "Hecla, 
I  do  not  claim  to  know  well  a  woman's  heart.  There 
is  much  in  your  nature  that  is  still  hidden  from  me. 
I  only  know  I  can  make  you  happy.  Just  as  I  need  you, 
you  will  learn  to  need  me."  And  he  added,  expressing  in 
his  tones  the  sacredness  of  his  emotions,  "You  are  the 
first  woman  I  have  ever  loved." 

What  he  said,  the  tone  in  which  he  said  it,  touched 
her ;  but  it  was  lost  in  her  passion  to  escape. 


THE    NAME    OF   LOVE  f    281 

"Is  that  true  ?"  she  cried.  "Is  it  not  what  a  man  says 
always  to  a  woman?  I  have  heard — I  have  heard  you 
love  Rhoda  Markham." 

"I  don't  understand/'  he  said  gravely. 

She  did  not  look  at  him  as  she  faltered:  "It  is  the 
talk  of  Dunkirk." 

"How  can  you  believe  such  a  story?  You  know  it  is 
not  the  truth." 

"I  do  not  know — how  can  I  know?"  she  answered 
half-hysterically. 

"And  that  is  what  has  been  distressing  you?"  he 
said  tenderly,  trying  to  take  her  hand. 

"No,  no,"  she  implored.  "Do  not  touch  me.  This  is 
all  a  mistake.  The  other  day  I  was  excited  by  the 
storm.  I  am  afraid  of  lightning,  and  I  did  not  know 
what  I  did.  Indeed,  I  do  not  love  you,  and  I  can  never 
marry  you."  Covering  her  face  with  her  hands  she 
broke  into  nervous  sobs. 

When  he  had  left  her  she  sat  up,  impatiently  dash 
ing  the  tears  from  her  cheeks.  With  the  removal  of  his 
presence  her  spirit  reasserted  itself.  Her  old  antagon 
ism  and  physical  distaste  for  him  came  back  and  filled 
her  heart  to  breaking.  She  loathed  herself  for  her 
tameness,  her  faltering  tones,  her  tears. 

As  she  sat  there  in  the  parlors  her  brother  Jervis 
reentered.  The  child's  round  noble-looking  head 
dripped  with  water. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  ?"  she  asked  as  she  kissed 
him. 

"Jervis  has  been  called  a  curly-headed  Jew,"  was 
the  indignant  reply. 

Little  Pitcher  had  gone  to  seek  his  book  out  in  the 


2S2     f  HECLA    SAXDWITII 

orchard,  where  he  had  dropped  it  on  seeing  Richard 
Hallett  approaching  the  house,  and  there  had  met  one 
of  the  farm-boys,  who  had  teased  him  by  repeating  the 
old  rhyme  on  curly  heads.  When  he  had  told  his  tale, 
Hecla  said  wistfully: 

"Listen  to  me,  Jervis.  You  mayn't  always  have  Sis 
ter  Hecla  to  care  for  you.  Dry  your  hair  and  make  it 
as  curly  as  you  can,  and  then  go  out  in  the  orchard  and 
prove  what  a  little  man  you  are." 

"Is  that  what  Eichard  Hallett  would  do,  Sister 
Hecla?" 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  of  it." 

Hecla,  gazing  at  him,  thought  of  her  father's  ad 
miration  for  Hallett,  and  it  impressed  her  that  the 
child's  instinctive  affection  seemed  to  echo  her  father's 
wisdom.  Drawing  Jervis  close  to  her  she  asked  medi 
tatively  : 

"Do  you  like  Eichard  Hallett  ?" 

"Indeed,  Jervis  does !"  Little  Pitcher  exclaimed  en 
thusiastically.  "Don't  you,  Sister  Hecla  ?" 


CHAPTEE  VII 

HAPPINESS   THROUGH   ANOTHER  MAN'S   EYES 

The  meeting  with  Benjamin  Truelove  in  the  early 
dawn  of  that  mystic  May  morning  had  brought  peace 
and  comfort  to  Harmony.  She  had  left  her  Uncle 
Gideon's  door  the  evening  before  in  discouragement  and 
doubt  of  her  spiritual  call.  Then  had  come  the  meet 
ing  with  the  young  Quaker  evangelist,  his  message 
which  seemed  to  Harmony  to  be  indeed  Heaven-sent, 
followed  as  it  was  by  the  aureoling  of  her  shadow — vi 
sion  of  the  crown  promised  Christian  faithfulness.  The 
effect  of  this  had  been  lastingly  to  alter  Harmony's 
whole  nature.  Having  joined  Meeting,  and  now  will 
ingly  assuming  the  costume  of  the  Quakers,  Harmony 
was  no  longer  content  with  closet  piety.  The  happiness 
that  was  hers — light  after  darkness  in  her  prayerful 
girlhood  life — seemed  to  her  selfish  unless  she  shared 
it  with  others. 

She  realized  she  had  thought  too  much  of  her  own 
salvation,  too  little  of  her  duty  toward  others.  She 
had  often  prayed  that  the  ill  to  fall  upon  the  family 
roof  predicted  by  Benjamin  Truelove  might  be  averted, 
but  what  had  she  ever  done  for  those  nearest  her  ?  She 
had  forgiven  Hecla,  it  was  true,  for  the  heartaches  and 
suffering  caused  by  her  forgetfulness  of  Mr.  Donovan's 

283 


284  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

letter,  but  she  had  never  come  close  to  her  stepsister — 
not  even  in  the  lonely  days  following  Joshua  Sandwith's 
end.  Hecla  had  pleaded  her  own  renunciation  of  love 
the  day  of  their  quarrel — had  she,  Harmony,  ever  tried 
to  soften  her  sister's  grief,  bring  balm  to  this  unknown 
yet  half -guessed  wound  ?  And  her  brother  David's  mar 
riage,  his  dissipation,  his  attempted  suicide;  the  tragedy 
of  Clover's  motherhood!  All  this  awakened  in  Har 
mony  a  sense  of  neglected  obligation.  Alas,  she  had 
been  but  sister  in  name  to  her  brother!  She  had  re 
membered  him  in  her  prayers,  she  had  forgotten  him  in 
her  life. 

Such  recognition  of  a  new  duty  toward  her  fellow 
beings,  of  what  the  religious  life  truly  signified,  had 
come  to  her  since  that  sunrise  hour  when  she  had  fallen 
on  her  knees  in  the  rain-wet  meadows  of  her  father's 
home  and  thanked  Heaven  for  the  pledge  vouchsafed 
her  in  the  miraculous  shadow.  So  it  was  with  thank 
fulness  that  she  took  up  the  task  of  ministering  to  the 
bodily  ills  and  spiritual  wants  of  her  sister-in-law, 
Clover. 

It  was  during  one  of  her  solemn  night  watches  at 
Clover's  bed-side  that  Harmony  fell  into  a  sleep  and 
dreamed  a  dream.  It  seemed  to  her  she  was  at  home 
seated  in  the  parlors,  when  one  of  grave  and  wondrous 
countenance  entered  and  casting  something  weighty  in 
to  her  lap  answered  her  amazed  questioning  with  the 
words :  "It  is  a  soul  in  hell ;  yet  touch  it  only  with  thy 
finger  tips  and  it  will  live  again."  This  dream  troubled 
Harmony  much  until  she  deemed  she  had  found  an  in 
terpretation  of  its  behest,  when  one  day  after  she  had 
returned  to  Burnham  she  was  passing  through  the  par- 


THROUGH  ANOTHER  MAX'S  EYES  285 

lors  and  she  saw  over  the  fireplace  the  old  steel  engrav 
ing  of  the  Quakeress,  Elizabeth  Fry,  reading  the  Bible 
to  the  prisoners  at  Newgate.  She  therefore  resolved  to 
visit  the  Dunkirk  jail. 

The  county  jail  stood  on  one  of  the  prominent  hills 
of  the  town  and  had  a  rugged  fortress-like  appearance 
that  suggested  security  hardly  borne  out  by  fact.  If 
prisoners  did  not  oftener  escape  from  this  stronghold 
of  rough-hewn  mountain  stone  it  was  because  they  were 
inclined  to  regard  it  as  a  comfortable  rent-free  resi 
dence.  Old  Sheriff  Waddles  was  noted  for  the  indul 
gence  with  which  he  treated  the  offenders  in  his  charge. 
These  were  for  the  most  part  confined  for  small  trans 
gressions,  and  the  sheriff  saw  no  reason  why  the  tedium 
of  the  cell  should  not  occasionally  be  relieved  by  grant 
ing  prisoners  the  liberty  of  Dunkirk  on  their  promise 
to  return  at  nine  o'clock  at  night,  when  a  huge  brass 
dinner-bell  was  rung  at  the  jail  entrance.  Nothing  so 
excited  his  choler  however  as  tardy  attention  to  the 
summons,  and  laggards  were  severely  threatened  with 
being  locked  out  for  the  night  if  they  did  not  mend 
their  ways,  or  if  it  chanced  to  be  springtime  they  for 
feited  the  pleasure  of  joining  their  paternal  sheriff  on 
a  Sunday  fishing  excursion. 

A  visit  to  the  jail  was  a  trial  to  one  of  Harmony's 
timid  nature,  and  it  was  with  nervous  fingers  she  tied 
on  the  plain  silk  bonnet  she  was  now  accustomed  to 
wearing  and  set  forth  for  the  first  time  on  her  mission, 
carrying  in  her  hand  a  bundle  of  Quaker  tracts.  The 
sheriff  received  her  with  ill-disguised  amusement,  as 
suring  her  she  would  soon  weary  of  her  evangelical  ef 
forts.  The  first  day  she  ventured  only  as  far  as  the 


286  HECLA   SANDWITH 

grated  entrance  of  tlie  prisoners'  ward  and  from  there, 
gazing  on  the  gathered  faces  that  fixed  her  wonderingly, 
she  spoke  to  them  in  a  faltering  sweet  voice  of  her  own 
sinfulness  and  the  religious  peace  that  had  come  to  her. 
Then  slipping  the  leaflets  through  the  bars  she  departed 
with  a  little  glow  of  happiness  and  relief.  But  she 
gained  courage  soon  and,  safe-guarded  by  the  sheriff, 
grew  accustomed  to  sitting  in  the  midst  of  her  rugged 
audience,  to  whom  she  read  out  of  her  little  brown 
Bible  of  girlhood  days,  then,  waiting  with  shut  eyelids 
for  the  moving  of  the  Spirit,  she  would  offer  up  short 
touching  prayers.  Soon  the  prisoners  began  to  look 
forward  with  interest  that  was  not  without  its  touch  of 
sentiment  for  the  soft-faced  young  Quaker  girl,  and 
the  sheriff  often  abandoned  afternoon  strolls  to  be 
present  during  these  readings. 

One  day  in  August  Harmony,  having  been  on  one  of 
her  missions  to  the  prisoners,  was  on  her  way  to  meet 
Hecla  who  had  come  in  town  to  see  Wentworth  on  busi 
ness.  As  she  descended  Jail  Hill  she  saw  Mr.  Donovan 
walking  in  her  direction.  He  was  about  to  pass  with  a 
dignified  greeting  when  she  stopped  and  held  out  her 
hand. 

"Mr.  Donovan,"  she  said,  and  he  saw  her  brown  eyes 
fill  with  tears. 

He  took  her  hand  with  quick  responsive  feeling,  and 
for  a  moment  neither  spoke.  Then  Harmony  said  in  her 
quiet  pure  voice: 

"There  is  something  I  have  wanted  to  tell  thee  ever 
since  I  received  thy  letter/' 

It  was  the  first  time  they  had  thus  met  face  to  face 
since  their  parting  a  year  before  at  Pentecost  Sand- 


THROUGH  ANOTHER  MAN'S  EYES  287 

with's  doorstep.  He  remembered  the  pretty  Leghorn 
bonnet  with  its  wreath  of  pink  roses  she  had  worn  then, 
and  as  he  now  compared  ii  with  the  one  she  had  on  it 
seemed  to  him  that  its  gray  hue  symbolized  the  ashes 
of  those  roses  and  all  they  had  stood  for  in  his  dreams. 

"I  fear,"  she  continued,  "that  thee  may  have  mis 
judged  me  about  the  letter.  I  should  have  written  to 
thee,  but  it  was  part  of  a  needed  penance  I  should  suf 
fer  thee  to  misunderstand  me,  perhaps  think  me  hard 
and  unforgiving.  But,"  with  a  little  effort,  "I  distrust 
ed  my  strength,  should  I  have  seen  thee  then."  Her 
voice  grew  brave  once  more  as  she  added :  "For  I  loved 
thee,  John  Donovan." 

"And  you  refused  me  your  love  because  of  the  quar 
rel?" 

"No,"  she  answered,  "it  was  not  that.  I  did  not  re 
ceive  thy  letter  until  it  was  too  late  for  earthly  love." 

"Too  late?" 

"Yes,  for  I  had  offered  my  love  as  a  sacrifice  to  God 
that  He  might  give  me  peace." 

"Harmony,  you  love  me  still.  Tell  me,"  he  pleaded, 
"that  you  have  not  ceased  to  love  me !" 

She  looked  at  him  gently.  "I  have  given  all  my  love 
to  God,"  she  answered;  and  he  saw  the  light  of  conse 
cration  in  her  eyes.  "Thee  must  forget  me,  John.  I 
would  not  be  the  cause  of  unhappiness  to  thee.  We 
have  our  separate  paths  to  tread.  Fare  thee  well,  dear 
friend !  My  prayers  will  be  thine  always." 

Hecla  on  coming  to  town  with  Harmony  had  gone 
to  Wentworth's  office,  which  she  found  deserted.  She 
gave  a  slight  sigh  of  relief  at  the  discovery.  Her 


288  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

colorless  almost  as  the  summer  lawn  she  wore,  had 
grown  thin  with  a  slightness  that  brought  out  more 
purely  the  delicate  lines  of  cheek  and  chin.  Under  the 
broad  brim  of  her  straw  hat  her  gray-blue  eyes  had  a 
darkness  due  to  the  suffering  and  melancholy  of  the 
last  few  weeks.  She  had  made  the  appointment  with 
Wentworth  because  he  wished  to  talk  to  her  on  business 
matters;  but  on  her  way  from  Burnham  she  had  re 
solved  she  would  take  advantage  of  the  meeting  to  let 
her  cousin  know  of  her  engagement  to  Richard  Hallett. 

Hecla  had  finally  told  the  Englishman  that  she  would 
marry  him.  Jervis'  enthusiasm  for  Richard  Hallett, 
expressed  the  day  after  his  second  proposal,  had  been 
one  of  many  influences  which  had  caused  her  to  put 
aside  her  own  feelings — feelings  that  at  times  shadowed 
her  heart  with  a  nameless  fear — in  her  sense  of  the  ben 
efit  this  marriage  would  be  to  those  who  had  been  left 
in  her  keeping.  Joshua  Sandwith's  letter  to  his  daugh 
ter  had  weighed  painfully  upon  her  responsibility.  She 
recognized  now,  though  with  infinite  reluctance,  that 
she  had  not  obeyed  what  would  have  been  her  father's 
wish  in  re-leasing  the  furnace  to  David. 

That  it  was  Wentworth's  opinion  her  stepbrother 
was  mismanaging  her  father's  business  she  could  not 
doubt.  She  knew  that  if  she  told  him  the  contents  of 
Joshua  Sandwith's  letter  she  had  received  on  the  night 
of  the  reading  of  the  will  he  would  firmly  oppose  the 
re-leasing  of  the  Works  to  Dave  next  April,  and  try  to 
induce  Hallett  to  accept  the  position.  To  consent  to 
this  and  by  so  doing  disgrace  Dave  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world  Hecla  felt  was  impossible  to  her  both  from  sis 
terly  affection  and  family  pride.  She  was  persuaded 


THROUGH  ANOTHER  MAN'S  EYES  289 

that  Dave  had  been  in  a  measure  the  victim  of  circum 
stances.  Handicapped  from  the  beginning  by  public 
disapprobation,  his  life  and  character  had  seriously  been 
affected  by  the  prophecy  of  Benjamin  Truelove.  It  had 
led  his  father  to  lose  confidence  in  him  and  thus  refuse 
him  a  share  in  the  Works  which  he  had  expected  to  in 
herit  on  the  iron-master's  death.  Joshua  Sandwith's 
letter  had  astonished  Hecla  and  the  conditions  it  had 
imposed  had,  despite  the  reverence  in  which  she  held  her 
father's  view  of  things,  seemed  to  her  harsh  and  unjust 
to  David. 

Hecla's  faith  in  her  brother  had  however  been  rude 
ly  shaken  by  the  recent  occurrences.  She  saw  now 
how  much  foresight  her  father  had  shown  when  he 
had  laid  down  the  conditions  of  Dave's  future  man 
agement  of  his  business.  Attached  as  she  was  to  her 
stepbrother's  interests  there  was  also  her  little  Jer- 
vis'  future  to  consider.  She  had  been  left  the  Works 
in  order  that  she  might  hand  it  over  to  him  in  a  pros 
perous  condition  on  his  coming  of  age.  To  lease  the 
Works  to  any  one  outside  the  family — to  Richard  Hal- 
lett  as  her  father  had  suggested — seemed  to  her  almost 
a  sacrilege.  There  was  one  solution  of  the  difficulty.  If 
she  sacrificed  herself  by  marrying  Richard  Hallett,  he 
as  her  husband  might  appropriately,  without  exciting 
comment  destructive  of  her  stepbrother's  standing,  take 
charge  of  the  furnace  in  joint  management  with  Dave, 
and  thus  save  the  business  from  ruin  through  his  en 
ergy  and  practical  capabilities,  in  which  her  father  had 
such  trust.  These  family  considerations,  combining 
with  Richard  Hallett's  kindness,  his  forbearance  with 
her  hesitation  and  coldness,  the  feeling  of  friendship 


290  HECLA   S'ANDWITH 

rather  than  emotional  sentiment  which  characterized 
their  relationship,  blinded  Hecla  to  the  fact  that  she 
was  marrying  a  man  she  did  not  really  love. 

She  was,  it  was  true,  oppressed  at  times  by  scruples 
in  regard  to  the  marriage,  but  these  Richard  Hallett 
always  overruled  and  his  acceptance  of  the  situation — • 
growing  out  of  his  confidence  that  he  would  win  her 
heart  as  he  had  her  hand — seemed  to  protect  her  against 
the  chilling  thought  she  was  doing  him  a  wrong.  His 
inexperience  was  his  greatest  strength — he  never  doubt 
ed;  and  this  quieted  the  throb  of  her  conscience,  went 
far  indeed  toward  justifying  her  in  the  belief  she  was 
giving  him  much  rather  than  little — since  it  so  satis 
fied  him. 

Hecla  had  not  seen  Wentworth  since  the  accident  to 
David — not  since  the  eventful  moment  in  her  life  when 
she  had  sought  refuge  in  the  Englishman's  arms  through 
fear  of  lightning,  the  day  of  her  drive  with  Hetty. 
As  she  stood  at  the  threshold  of  the  inner  office  she 
sighed  again  with  relief  at  not  finding  her  cousin  there. 
She  was  glad  of  the  reprieve,  for  while  wishing  to 
break  the  news  of  her  engagement  to  Richard  Hallett 
she  dreaded  the  ordeal.  The  offices  were  dim  and  cool 
in  contrast  with  the  glare  of  the  golden  summer  day. 
Hecla  moved  around  the  room  softly  as  though  fearing 
to  disturb  the  invisible  presence  that  haunted  it.  She 
paused  before  the  book-shelves  with  their  rows  of  musty 
sheepskin  volumes,  letting  her  gloved  fingers  rest  on 
several  that  looked  most  worn.  Then  her  glance  fell 
on  the  desk  and,  seating  herself  in  the  stiff  leather- 
covered  chair,  she  buried  her  face  for  a  moment  among 
the  papers.  A  tear  welling  from  the  depth  of  her 


THROUGH  ANOTHER  MAN'S  EYES  291 

physical  fatigue  fell  blottingly  on  the  "Whereas"  of 
a  carefully  penned  indenture.  Hastily  rising  from  the 
desk — for  she  heard  Wentworth's  step — she  seated  her 
self  by  the  window  and  gazed  out  unseeingly  on  the 
empty  Diamond. 

Wentworth  flung  his  green  bag  on  the  table  with  a 
gesture  of  relief. 

"Forgive  me  for  keeping  you  waiting,  Hecla,"  he 
said.  "I  have  just  come  from  court  where  I  have  been 
arguing  a  land-suit.  Have  you  been  here  long?" 

"No,  I  have  just  come." 

The  colorless  tone  struck  him.  "You  don't  look  well. 
It  was  a  hot  day  for  you  to  walk  to  town." 

"Yes,  the  heat  has  rather  tired  me  out,"  she  admitted, 
"but  otherwise  I  am  quite  well."  Then,  nervously, 
after  a  pause:  "Wentworth,  I  have  something  to  tell 
you.  I  have  promised  to  be  Mr.  Hallett's  wife.  I 
thought  I  should  like  you  to  know  before  any  one 
else.  It  must  seem  a  little  strange  to  you,"  she  went 
on  hurriedly,  "when  I  have  so  often  said  I  never  in 
tended  to  marry.  But  after  all,  Wentworth,  it  is  the 
unexpected  that  happens  in  our  lives — and  I  have  given 
my  promise  to  Mr.  Hallett.  You  remember  in  what 
high  respect  father  always  held  him."  She  suddenly 
ceased,  then  sqid  desperately :  "How  warm  it  is !" 

"I'll  get  you  a  glass  of  water." 

At  the  composure  of  his  voice  she  turned  her  face 
quickly  with  a  pang  of  displeasure.  She  had  expected 
she  knew  not  what,  yet  somehow  Wentworth's  manner 
surprised  and  piqued  her.  He  was  filling  the  glass  for 
her. 

"You  know  all  I  would  say,  Hecla,"  were  his  quiet 


292  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

words.    "There  is  nothing  I  care  for  more  than  your 
happiness." 

"Happiness  ?"  she  echoed  with  sudden  bitterness. 
"What  a  stereotyped  word  you  use !  Do  you  think  hap 
piness  the  aim  of  life?  To  me  life  is  only  a  matter  of 
doing  one's  duty." 

He  handed  the  glass  to  her,  saying  courteously :  "I'm 
afraid  the  water  is  not  very  cool." 

She  set  it  aside  though  her  throat  was  parched.  He 
had  turned  away  and  she  sat  staring  out  of  the  window, 
too  wounded  for  a  moment  to  speak.  At  last  she  de 
manded  : 

"Wentworth,  why  do  you  treat  me  like  this  ?" 

"You  spoke  of  life  being  merely  a  matte*  of  doing 
your  duty,"  he  replied  slowly.  "Why  do  you  look  on 
marriage  as  a  duty?  It  seems  to  me  that  marriage  ex 
cept  for  love  is  not  a  duty,  but  a  mistake." 

"Why  should  you  suppose  I  am  making  such  a  mis 
take  ?"  she  asked  him  proudly. 

"I  should  not  have  presumed  to  think  so,  Hecla,  ex 
cept  for  your  words. " 

"My  words?" 

<fYes,  you  spoke  as  if  your  marriage  were  in  some  way 
compulsory,  not  a  question  of  happiness  with  you." 

Color  mounted  to  her  cheeks  and  she  retorted:  "I 
thought  you  above  the  feelings  that  cause  you  to  say 
that !" 

He  flushed  also  at  the  reflection,  but  he  answered 
steadily : 

"You  know  what  I  say  is  true,  Hecla,  and,  feeling  as 
you  do,  you  are  making  a  mistake  in  marrying." 

"I  am  the  best  judge  of  my  actions !" 


THROUGH  ANOTHER  MAN'S  EYES  293 

"Not  if  you  are  marrying  without  love.    You  wrong 
yourself,  and  you  wrong  Richard  Hallett." 
"What  right  have  you  to  speak  so  to  me  ?" 
"I  have  no  right  except  that  I  care  for  you,  Hecla." 
"And  therefore  you  would  prevent  me  marrying  at 
all,"  she  answered  him.    Then,  regretting  her  words: 
"Forgive  me,  Wentworth,  for  saying  that.    I  did  not 
mean  it !  I  am  so  tired  and  troubled  !" 

"Hecla,  won't  you  believe  I  speak  for  your  good,  to 
save  you  unhappiness  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  faltered,  "I  do  believe  it,  Wentworth.  But 
you  are  mistaken,  I  am  not  wronging  Mr.  Hallett.  He 
knows  my  feelings  toward  him,  and  he  is  satisfied." 

"Richard  Hallett  is  not  satisfied,  Hecla !  No  man  is 
satisfied  with  less  than  a  woman's  whole  heart.  He 
thinks  he  is  satisfied  because  he  loves  you,  and  because 
he  is  confident  he  will  win  your  love  in  the  end.  But 
suppose  you  never  learn  to  love  him,  what  then?  The 
awakening  will  bring  wretchedness  to  you  both.  Can't 
you  see  that  ?" 

"Would  you  have  me  break  my  word  ?" 
"He  is  a  gentleman  and  he  will  release  you !" 
"I  do  not  wish  to  be  released/'  she  cried.     "Do  you 
suppose  I  have  acted  blindly  in  this;  that  I  have  given 
my  promise  like  a  child  without  thinking?     You  can 
not  dissuade  me,  because  I  have  decided  it  is  best  for 
me  to  marry  Mr.  Hallett  as  my  father  urged  me  to  do !" 
"Ah,  Hecla,  that  is  just  it.     You  are  marrying  for 
your  father's  sake,  not  for  your  own.    You  have  an  idea 
that  this  sacrifice  is  required  of  you.    You  do  not  know 
what  you  are  doing !    When  you  do  know  it  will  be  too 
late!" 


294:  HECLA   SANDWITH 

"Wentworth,"  she  said,  rising  with  a  white  face,  "I 
can  not  discuss  this  with  you  any  more.  I  am  sorry  the 
subject  ever  was  mentioned.  I  should  have  known  bet 
ter  than  that !"  She  moved  toward  the  door.  Then  she 
paused  and  looked  at  him,  and  "Wentworth  could  see  the 
misery  in  her  eyes. 

"Hecla,"  he  said,  catching  her  hand,  "listen  to  me! 
Do  not  go!  If  you  loved  Eichard  Hallett  I  could  not 
speak.  But  you  do  not  love  him.  You  love  me — you 
know  that  you  do !  Didn't  you  admit  it  once  ?  Do  you 
suppose  I  can  not  see  it,  feel  it?  Have  you  forgotten 
that  day  in  Jane  Hamilton's  parlor  when  you  fainted — 
when  you  came  to  and  confessed  your  love  for  me  ?  You 
spoke  the  truth  then !  And  now  you  will  throw  away 
your  happiness  and  mine — give  yourself  to  a  man  you 
don't  care  for — just  because  of  your  father's  wishes! 
Tell  me,  which  is  worse,  to  marry  your  first  cousin  or 
make  a  loveless  match  ?"  And  he  tried  to  intercept  her 
going. 

"Open  the  door !  Do  not  stop  me,  Wentworth !"  she 
cried,  her  grasp  on  the  knob.  "Have  you  forgotten  that 
I  am  pledged  to  Mr.  Hallett  ?  I  did  not  think  you  would 
take  advantage  of  our  meeting  to  plead  your  own  cause 
• — to  plead  it  at  the  expense  of  another !" 

"You  love  me,  Hecla !" 

"I  do  not  love  you !" 

"Look  at  me  and  say  it — you  can  not !" 

"Whatever  I  feel  for  you  be  sure  of  this,"  she  cried, 
"I  shall  never  marry  you !" 

"And  why  ?    Because  of  your  father  ?" 

"No !  Neither  that  nor  for  any  other  reason  of  duty ! 
Because  I  do  not  respect  you !  Because  you  are  weak ! 


THROUGH  ANOTHER  MAN'S  EYES  295 

Ah,  I  know  it  now !  I  should  have  married  you  in  spite 
of  everything  if  you  had  been  stronger  than  I !  Whether 
I  love  Mr.  Hallett  or  not,  I  can  look  up  to  him — believe 
in  him  as  a  man;  and  that  is  why  I  do  not  fear  to 
marry  him.  But  you — to  try  to  dissuade  me  from 
marrying  Mr.  Hallett  for  your  own  purposes !  Yes,  I 
think  I  loved  you  once,  but  I  love  you  no  more !"  And 
Hecla,  struggling  with  her  tears,  made  her  way  blindly 
out  of  Wentworth's  office. 

Hecla  and  Harmony  walked  home  together  in  silence. 
Each  had  read  in  the  other's  face  something  that  in 
stinctively  drew  them  near  without  need  of  words.  As 
they  approached  the  house  Hecla  said  abruptly : 

"Harmony,  I  have  promised  to  be  Mr.  Hallett's 
wife." 

"I  am  so  glad."  Harmony  kissed  her  sister.  "May 
God  bless  thee  and  Richard  !" 

"But  I  thought  perhaps  you  disapproved  of  him, 
like  Aunt  Deborah,  because  of  his  religious  views." 

"I  try  to  judge  not  that  I  may  not  be  judged,"  was 
the  reply. 

Hecla,  as  she  looked  at  her  sister's  sweet,  patient  face, 
remorsefully  remembered  their  quarrel. 

"Harmony,  I  think  so  often  about  the  letter.  Have 
you  forgiven  me  for  what  I  did  ?" 

"For  what  you  did  not  mean  to  do,"  Harmony  cor 
rected.  "I  have  forgiven  thee  long  ago.  Thee  must  not 
think  of  it  again." 

"But  you  said  I  had  ruined  your  life — taken  away 
your  religion !" 

"It  was  wrong  in  me  to  say  that !" 


296  HECLA    SAXDWiTH 

"So  you  are  happy  now  ?" 

Harmony's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "God  is  very  good," 
she  said.  "He  has  given  me  peace." 


CHAPTEE  VIII 

LOVE'S   LANGUAGE   BUT   NOT  LOVE 

When  Hecla's  engagement  to  Kichard  Hallett  was 
announced  there  was  considerable  dissatisfaction  ex 
pressed  in  the  family  circle.  Hecla's  aunt,  Deborah 
Sandwith,  who  felt  it  was  her  due  that  she  should  be 
consulted  on  all  matrimonial  questions  in  the  Sandwith 
connection,  considered  that  her  niece's  independent  be 
stowal  of  her  hand  on  the  Englishman  was  a  grave  er 
ror.  Since  the  supper-party  she  had  had  decided 
doubts  as  to  the  soundness  of  Hallett's  religious  views. 
Friend  Deborah  had  of  course  wished  to  have  Hecla 
marry  in  Meeting  but  the  latter's  worldly-mindedness 
and  vain  tastes  had  long  ago  caused  her  to  despair  of 
keeping  her  in  the  fold  of  the  Sandwith  faith;  on  the 
other  hand  she  had  hardly  anticipated  her  niece's  wed 
ding  one  reputed  to  be  a  free-thinker. 

She  made  judicious  inquiries  of  Hecla  as  to  Richard 
Hallett's  history:  what  family  he  might  have  in  Eng 
land,  and  what  were  his  expectations;  for  in  all  such 
matters  Deborah  Sandwith  had  a  nice  discriminating 
sense,  nor  was  she  without  pride  of  blood  and  material 
prudence.  That  Hecla  should  have  engaged  herself  to 
one  of  skeptical  leanings,  and  without  a  comfortable 
fortune,  seemed  indeed  to  be  inviting  the  ruin  Benja- 

297 


298  HECLA    SANDWITH 

min  Truelove  had  predicted  was  to  fall  on  her  father's 
house. 

Hetty,  true  to  her  early  convictions  that  Eichard 
Hallett  had  perhaps  more  urgent  reasons  for  leaving 
England  and  settling  at  Dunkirk  than  appeared,  sagely 
reiterated  what  a  risk  Hecla  ran  in  marrying  an  unin- 
vestigated  suitor.  Dave,  who  had  long  ago  learned  to 
hate  Hallett,  felt  the  alliance  boded  ill  for  his  future 
advantages,  but  he  endeavored  to  cloak  his  envy  and 
ill-will  from  Hecla.  Harmony  alone  was  truly  sym 
pathetic.  Her  renunciation  of  earthly  love  had  seemed 
only  to  increase  her  wish  that  others  might  find  the 
happiness  her  own  heart  had  forfeited. 

That  the  tongues  of  Miss  Pinkie  Tathem  and  other 
news-gatherers  on  Dunkirk  door-sills  should  have  been 
well  employed  upon  the  occasion  was  to  be  expected. 
Just  as  the  engagement  of  the  Englishman  and  Hecla 
had  been  anticipated,  so  was  the  date  of  their  wedding 
officially  fixed  by  these  diligent  gossips  and  constantly 
Hecla  was  being  asked:  If  it  were  true  that  she  and 
Mr.  Hallett  were  to  be  married  at  once  ?  If  they  were 
going  to  England  to  visit  Mr.  Hallett's  relatives? 
Whether  she  intended  living  at  Snow  Shoe  or  was  Mr. 
Hallett  to  take  up  his  abode  at  Burnham  ? 

Such  interested  questions  had  the  effect  of  making 
Hecla  realize  the  inevitability  of  the  marriage.  Her 
father  had  taught  her  respect  for  a  pledge  given :  it  had 
been  part  of  his  own  Quaker  integrity,  of  the  essence  of 
family  honor.  In  promising  to  be  Eichard  Hallett's 
wife  Hecla  knew  that  she  must  wed  him  in  the  end; 
that  no  objection  on  the  part  of  the  family  or  worldly 
consideration  could  alter  this  fact.  Yet  she  had  been  dis- 


LOVE'S  LANGUAGE  BUT  NOT  LOVE  299 

posed  to  think  of  it  as  something  belonging  to  the  fu 
ture  rather  than  to  the  present,  and  she  was  awakened 
to  the  futility  of  thus  temporizing  hy  the  coercive  char 
acter  of  these  public  demands.  A  long  engagement  was 
something  almost  unknown  in  Dunkirk,  and  was  con 
demned  as  indelicate  and  ill-advised.  Popular  senti 
ment  was  thus  like  a  hand  thrusting  her  toward  the 
altar.  Then  Eichard  Hallett,  while  he  was  considerate 
in  many  ways  and  was  not  unduly  pressing  on  the  sub 
ject  of  the  marriage  day,  did  not  wish  it  to  be  deferred 
longer  than  necessary.  So  Hecla,  knowing  she  was 
bound,  at  last  reluctantly  yielded  to  her  lover's  desire. 

It  was  decided  therefore  that  the  wedding  should 
take  place  in  October  and  that  after  a  short  trip  to 
Philadelphia  they  should  return  to  Burnham,  where 
they  were  to  live  until  the  hotel  that  was  building  at 
Snow  Shoe  was  completed. 

As  the  marriage  day  approached  Hecla  had  little 
time  for  reflection.  Life  became  a  matter  of  the  mantua- 
makers  and  their  mandates.  She  did  not  look  well ;  but 
there  was  propriety  in  that.  The  town  crowding  to  the 
house  to  offer  congratulations  forgot  to  criticize  Hecla's 
appearance  in  their  curiosity  over  the  nuptial  prepara 
tions  and  gifts. 

Hecla's  married  sister,  Lucia  Eaton,  had  come  to 
Burnham,  and  had  argued  for  a  wedding  to  rival  her 
own  in  gaiety  and  lavish  expenditure;  but  Hecla  met 
this  by  insisting  on  a  quiet  ceremony.  Lucia  therefore 
contented  herself  with  seeing  that  her  sister  had  at  all 
events  a  bride's  full  equipment:  accumulation  of  fam 
ily  linen,  silver,  household  necessities,  a  fitting  ward 
robe.  In  all  she  was  untiringly  executive.  Harmony 


300  HECLA    SANDWITH 

also  in  her  own  quiet  way  performed  many  devoted 
services.  Discontented  though  he  was  with  Hecla's 
choice,  Dave,  when  it  came  to  the  question  of  the  nup 
tials,  considered  it  his  duty  to  see  that  the  festivities 
lacked  no  element  of  success,  and  he  secretly  determined 
that  the  carousing  usual  on  such  occasions  should  not 
be  neglected. 

The  arrival  of  the  great  Conestoga  wagons  which 
brought  the  wedding  finery  from  Philadelphia  put 
Hetty  Wain  in  a  fever  pitch  of  excitement.  It  was  her 
eager  fingers  that  tore  open  the  ravishing  bundles  and 
bandboxes  and  on  her  plump  small  person  that  the 
gowns  and  mantles  were  tried  to  judge  of  their  effect. 
Hecla's  indifference  provoked  her  into  saying  one  day: 

"With  Richard  Hallett  so  hale  and  healthy  looking, 
Hecla,  thee  can't  look  forward  to  being  a  bride  a  second 
time;  so  if  I  were  thee  I'd  take  more  pleasure  in  my 
wedding  things.  Thee  is  only  pretending  thee  doesn't 
care  about  them.  Thee  always  did  love  to  appear  so  su 
perior  !" 

"Somehow  I  don't  care  about  clothes  as  much  as  I 
used  to,  Hetty." 

"Well,  then,  if  I  felt  that  way  I  shouldn't  have  spent 
so  much  money  on  them,"  Hetty  returned  with  a  cen 
sorious  air.  "I  must  say  thee  hasn't  been  very  econom 
ical,  considering  the  great  panic  and  the  furnace  shut 
down.  Uncle  Gideon  thinks  all  this  trouble  much  more 
serious  than  thy  brother  thinks  it.  Dave  is  always  so 
sanguine.  He  owes  Uncle  Gideon  a  lot  of  money  for 
ore  and  thee  may  be  sure  he'll  make  him  pay .'" 

"Uncle  Gideon  need  not  worry  over  that,  Hetty," 
Hecla  answered  quickly.  "David  is  perfectly  honorable 


LOVE'S  LANGUAGE  BUT  NOT  LOVE  301 

and  would  beggar  himself  rather  than  not  pay  his  debts. 
The  furnace  after  all  is  only  closed  down  until  the 
price  of  iron  is  high  enough  to  make  manufacturing  it 
worth  while.  As  to  what  you  call  my  extravagance, 
Lucia  is  responsible  for  that." 

"Well,  as  long  as  thee  has  thy  finery  I'd  enjoy  it.  I 
must  say  the  bridal  veil  quite  becomes  me/'  she  ad 
mitted,  thoughtfully  gazing  at  herself  in  the  mirror. 
"Let  me  have  it  again,"  taking  the  wreath  of  orange 
blossoms  from  Hecla's  hand.  "It  rather  makes  me 
want  to  marry  in  spite  of  husbands  being  such  a  nui 
sance.  I  suppose  we  marry  the  men  we  most  hate.  I 
have  no  patience  with  Blair  Nandine,  he's  such  a  fool, 
but  I'd  accept  him,  I  think,  if  it  weren't  for  Uncle 
Gideon.  Of  course,"  she  impatiently  sighed,  "he'd  dis 
inherit  me  if  I  married  anybody  but  a  Friend.  It's 
no  use  considering  how  I  look  in  a  veil  if  I  have  to 
stand  up  in  Meeting  and  'take'  a  husband  without 
bridesmaids,  music  or  flowers  or  anything  that  really 
counts.  Thank  goodness,  I  have  only  another  year  to 
wait  to  be  my  own  mistress;  and  then  perhaps  I'll  as 
tonish  people.  Hecla,"  she  continued  solemnly,  "the 
longer  I  live  the  more  bitter  I  grow  over  Uncle  Gide 
on's  making  me  wear  this  hideous  costume.  If  I  were 
only  allowed  just  one  ruffle  on  my  skirt !  I  would  make 
it  big  and  edge  it  with  lace.  Thee's  so  fortunate, 
Hecla!" 

"Am  I,  Hetty?"  Hecla  answered  as  she  put  the  veil 
back  into  the  box.  "I  don't  always  think  so." 

It  was  frequently  the  custom  among  the  Quakers 
of  central  Pennsylvania  when  they  wedded  'out  of  Meet 
ing'  to  compromise  religious  differences  by  having  a 


803  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

civil  marriage  performed  by  the  squire  at  the  bride's 
home.  This  arrangement  was  made  in  Hecla's  case. 
Richard  Hallett  had  suggested  that  the  ceremony  be 
performed  by  Mr.  Donovan,  and  he  had  been  surprised 
by  the  manner  in  which  Hecla  had  refused  to  listen  to 
him. 

"I  did  not  know,  Hecla/'  he  had  said,  "that  you  were 
so  prejudiced  as  to  object  to  an  Episcopal  clergyman. 
Mr.  Donovan  is  a  fine  fellow.  He  has  done  such  excel 
lent  mission  work  at  Snow  Shoe." 

"It  is  Mr.  Donovan  I  object  to,"  she  had  replied. 
"Have  you  forgotten,  Richard,  that  he  insulted  my 
father?" 

The  wedding  was  in  the  early  forenoon.  Some  rela 
tives  and  friends  from  a  distance  came  to  attend  it : 
these  and  the  family's  Dunkirk  connections  and  Hecla's 
few  girl  intimates  made  up  the  guests — not  a  great 
number  in  all.  The  squire,  a  courtly  old  gentleman 
and  cousin  of  Hecla's  mother,  elaborated  the  simple 
civil  form  and  ended  by  making  a  short,  carefully- 
worded  speech.  Then  followed  the  general  well-wish 
ing.  Mrs.  Seaborn  Oliver,  dropping  splendid  jewels  of 
sorrow,  murmured  sonorously  that  she  had  always 
prayed  her  niece  might  find  a  husband.  Her  aunt 
Deborah  Sandwith,  still  a  little  reserved  with  Hecla 
because  she  had  not  been  consulted  about  the  engage 
ment,  gave  her  a  kiss  on  the  cheek,  saying:  "I  wish 
thee,  dear,  all  the  happiness  that  is  good  for  thee." 
"When  Hetty  came  up  she  whispered :  "I  am  to  be  con 
gratulated,  too,  Hecla.  Blair  Nandine  was  so  affected 
seeing  thee  married  he  slipped  a  ring  on  my  third  finger 
while  the  service  was  going  on,  and  I  decided  it  might 


LOVE'S  LANGUAGE  BUT  NOT  LOVE  303 

as  well  stay.  After  all,  I  can  worry  along  without  Uncle 
Gideon's  money !" 

But  Hecla  scarcely  heard  the  felicitations.  She  had 
caught  sight  of  Wentworth  courteously  standing  aside 
for  the  feminine  stream  to  flow  onward,  and  she  was 
waiting  for  him — the  only  person  whose  good  wishes  had 
meaning  for  her.  As  he  held  out  his  hand  she  looked 
at  him  mutely  with  a  certain  sad  triumph  in  her  eyes. 
She  had  placed  a  barrier  between  them  now  for  ever. 

"Why  doesn't  thee  claim  thy  privilege,  Wentworth?" 
Hetty  cried  mockingly.  The  red  mounted  to  Went- 
worth's  temples  and,  bending,  he  lightly  kissed  his 
cousin's  hand.  Richard  Hallett  standing  beside  Hecla, 
his  eyes  full  of  pride,  smiled  upon  them.  "My  wife,"  he 
said  tenderly,  as  she  turned  again  to  him. 

Owing  to  the  rudeness  of  stage  travel  it  was  the  cus 
tom  for  wedding  parties  to  drive  from  Dunkirk  in  pri 
vate  vehicles  across  the  mountains — a  day's  trip — to  a 
small  town  on  the  Susquehanna  River  which  was  the 
nearest  railroad  connection.  A  roadside  tavern  served 
as  a  midday  stop  and  the  inn  at  the  journey's  end  pro 
vided  supper  and  lodging;  the  bridal  pair  usually  start 
ing  next  morning  on  their  honeymoon.  This  arrange 
ment  was  adopted  on  Hecla's  marriage.  Dave  had  or 
dered  a  venison  supper  to  await  them  at  the  inn,  which 
was  reached  toward  the  close  of  a  brown  October  day. 
Everybody  was  hungry  and  gaiety  seasoned  the  goodly 
haunch  of  venison  of  fine  size  and  savor  that  hung  in 
primitive  fashion  in  the  fireplace. 

After  supper,  when  the  dining-room  floor  was  cleared, 
there  was  general  exclamation.  Wax  had  not  yet  taken 
the  place  of  chalk  for  dancing  purposes.  A  local  artist 


304  HECLA    SANDWITH 

had  exercised  his  rude  skill  in  drawing  a  design  worthy 
the  distinguished  nuptials.  This  represented  a  heroic- 
sized  bride  and  groom  surrounded  by  Cupids  holding 
garlands,  and  turtle  doves  billing  in  pairs,  while  over 
all  hovered  the  winged  form  of  Fortune  inverting  her 
cornucopia — a  masterpiece  in  many-colored  chalks. 

"What  a  pity  to  have  it  all  rubbed  out!"  Hetty  ex 
claimed  as  she  stood  by  Eichard  Hallett  in  the  role  of 
youthful  philosopher  surveying  the  follies  of  others. 
Dave  had  selected  Mr.  Blair  Nandine  for  master  of  cere 
monies,  and  when  the  fiddlers  struck  up  a  blithe  local 
tune  lie  had  opened  the  ball  with  Hecla  as  his  partner. 
Hallett  did  not  dance  and  he  had  not  expected  his  wife 
would  do  so.  He  was  not  only  surprised  at  the  readiness 
with  which  she  accepted  the  invitation  of  Dunkirk's 
Beau  Brummel,  but  at  the  high  spirits  which  had  been 
hers  all  the  day.  It  was  with  a  slight  sense  of  isolation 
that,  from  a  quiet  corner  of  the  room,  he  watched  her 
make  her  graceful  way  through  the  rippling  ranks  of 
the  Tempete,  and  he  reflected  that  after  all  he  did  not 
wholly  understand  her.  Yet  if  marriage  had  already 
done  so  much  to  transform  her,  bring  back  youthful 
animation,  could  he  be  other  than  content  ?  No  doubt,  it 
was  a  passing  mood — this  half-feverish  abandonment  to 
the  night's  gaiety,  and  she  would  on  the  morrow  again 
show  herself  the  calm,  dignified  woman  he  had  known. 
As  he  watched,  he  grew  impatient  for  the  end  of  these 
ball-room  distractions.  His  heart  was  full  of  his  human 
want;  he  longed  for  the  hour  when  they  would  at  last 
be  left  together,  to  their  private  happiness. 

Hetty's  words  had  passed  unheeded,  and  the  little 
Quakeress  now  began  demurely  to  remark  on  Hecla's 


LOVE'S  LANGUAGE  BUT  NOT  LOYE  305 

levities.  Her  efforts  to  draw  from  Bichard  Hallett  some 
foreshadowings  of  marital  rule  that  she  might  trium 
phantly  repeat  them  to  her  cousin  resulted  only  in  the 
Englishman's  saying,  "I  do  not  criticize  my  wife  to 
others,  Miss  Wain." 

"I  hope  Hecla  will  lead  him  a  dance  as  gay  as  this 
for  the  rest  of  his  life/'  Hetty  murmured  to  herself. 

Gideon  Sandwith's  ward  was  in  a  bitter  mood  as  she 
stood  watching  the  fascinating  pigeons,  the  graceful 
bends  and  bows  of  the  other  guests.  Never  had  she  so 
chafed  under  the  restrictions  of  her  life ;  never  so  hated 
the  drab  garb  that  marked  her  as  one  apart  from  these 
youthful  disportings.  People  called  her  ill-natured. 
Well,  and  no  wonder  that  she  was,  with  such  a  blight 
on  her  maidenhood.  A  passion  to  defy  her  Uncle  Gideon 
and  join  the  others  in  the  frolic  measures  of  Sir  Roger 
de  Coverley  took  possession  of  her.  She  knew  her  guard 
ian  would  never  forgive  her  if  she  did  and  that  his  will 
in  her  favor  could  be  destroyed  at  a  stroke  of  the  pen. 
But  was  the  inheritance  worth  the  sacrifices  she  must 
make  to  gain  it  ?  She  saw  Blair  Nandine  in  all  the  ele 
gance  of  broadcloth  and  frilled  cambric  approaching. 

"What  a  pity  you  don't  dance,  Hetty !"  he  said  to  her. 

"Ask  me  and  see  if  I  don't,"  she  challenged  reck 
lessly. 

And  the  next  moment  there  was  a  shout  of  surprise 
and  a  general  applauding  of  hands  as  Miss  Hetty 
Wain  joined  the  throng  on  the  floor. 

"I  suppose  some  one'll  tell  Uncle  Gideon,"  she  re 
flected.  "People  are  so  mean.  But  let  them — I  don't 
care !" 

The  hour  was  growing  late.    Under  the  tripping  feet 


306  HECLA   SANDWITH 

of  the  dancers  the  chalk  design  had  become  a  blur.  The 
garlands  were  broken,  the  smiles  of  the  Cupids  had 
changed  into  ironic  grimaces  and  Fortune  had  lost  her 
cornucopia.  Bride  and  bridesmaids  had  slipped  away, 
and  guests  living  in  the  neighborhood  were  leaving 
the  inn.  Dave  had  seen  there  was  no  lack  of  liquor  to 
cheer  the  spirits  of  the  men,  and  most  of  them — less 
Hecla's  friends  than  his  own — were  gathered  in  the  bar 
room  drinking  final  healths  to  the  bridal  pair. 

A  stage  of  reckless  jollity  had  been  reached  by  these 
and  it  expressed  itself  in  impatient  demands  for  Rich- 
ard  Hallett.  The  groom  in  their  opinion  had  not  shown 
the  good  fellowship  the  occasion  called  for.  He  had 
been  reserved;  he  had  refused  to  join  them  in  the  bar 
room  during  the  evening;  and  this  had  not  increased 
his  popularity.  Some  commented  on  what  they  called 
his  Englishman's  conceit,  his  air  of  holding  himself 
above  the  amusements  and  manners  of  Dunkirk  society. 
Some  of  Hecla's  cousins,  who  had  come  from  the  city 
to  attend  the  wedding,  expressed  surprise  at  the  choice 
of  husband  she  had  made — she  who  might  have  had 
any  one  of  themselves  had  she  wished.  There  was 
some  fear  that  the  groom  meditated  eluding  the  old 
custom  of  the  county,  dating  back  to  rough  pioneer 
days,  of  being  formally  conducted  to  his  bedroom  and 
there  disarrayed  for  the  night.  Excited  by  the  drain 
ing  of  many  glasses,  the  company  swore  they  were  not 
going  to  forfeit  this  privilege.  A  general  cheer  greeted 
Dave's  return  with  Eichard  Hallett. 

Richard  Hallett  accepted  the  glass  that  was  offered 
him,  but  he  merely  tasted  it  and,  setting  it  clown,  ex 
pressed  his  appreciation  of  their  civilities,  after  which 


LOVE'S  LANGUAGE  BUT  NOT  LOVE  307 

he  wished  them  good  night.  There  was  noisy  protest 
at  this.  He  must  linger  a  while  at  least  and  warm 
the  cockles  of  his  heart.  But  he  was  quietly  determined 
and  shaking  their  hands,  left  the  bar-room. 

He  was  surprised  as  he  mounted  the  stairs  to  find  the 
young  men  crowding  after  him.  On  reaching  his  room 
adjoining  the  bridal  chamber  he  turned  and  again  bade 
the  company  good  night. 

Some  bursts  of  ill-bred  laughter  greeted  this,  and  one 
of  the  guests  of  the  evening  said  to  him :  "We  don't  let 
grooms  off  so  easy,  Hallett;  we  are  going  to  see  you  to 
bed." 

"You  must  excuse  me,  gentlemen." 

"Oh,  sec  here,  Hallett,"  answered  one  perhaps  drunk 
er  than  the  others,  "it's  our  custom.  You  wouldn't  be 
half-married  if  we  didn't  get  you  ready  for  bed;  it's 
part  of  the  program."  Slyly  urged  forward  by  others 
he  laid  his  hand  on  the  groom's  coat. 

"Take  your  hand  away,"  Eichard  Hallett  said  quietly. 
As  the  young  fellow  did  not  relinquish  his  hold  he 
thrust  him  back  with  force  into  the  arms  of  his  com 
panions. 

Wentworth  now  begged  Dave  to  interfere.  He  had 
reluctantly  followed  the  others  up  stairs  fearing  some 
such  misadventure. 

"He's  a  fool,  Wentworth,"  was  the  answer,  "and  I 
am  not  going  to  offend  all  these  good  fellows.  The  wed 
ding  hasn't  been  much  of  a  success  anyhow." 

As  Eichard  Hallett  stood  sternly  facing  the  discon 
certed  young  men  the  door  into  the  next  room  was  opened 
and  Hetty's  face  peeped  out.  "Why,  Cousin  Eichard," 
she  cried  mockinglv,  "what  can  be  the  matter  ?" 


308  HECLA    SANDWITH 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice  the  others  awkwardly  re 
treated  and  Eichard  and  Hetty  could  hear  the  shout  of 
merriment  at  Wentworth's  resourceful  proposal  that  they 
go  down  to  the  bar-room  for  one  more  drink. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  Hetty  propounded  the  ques 
tion  with  a  pert  little  grimace.  "It  looks,  I  should  say, 
as  if  thee  had  been  having  a  quarrel.  Anyhow,  it 
sounded  to  us  like  a  drunken  brawl.  If  thee's  not  care 
ful  Hecla  will  want  me  to  stay  with  her."  And  Hetty 
gave  a  teasing  little  laugh,  clapped  the  door  to,  and 
Richard  heard  the  key  turn  in  the  lock. 

Amazed,  angered  at  Hetty's  impertinence,  he  stood 
motionless  where  she  had  left  him.  Then,  in  a  mo 
ment,  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  door-knob  and  said 
quietly:  "Hecla!" 

There  was  no  answer,  and  he  rapped  lightly,  saying 
again :  "Hecla."  And  after  a  pause :  "I  wish  to  speak 
to  you." 

Still  there  was  no  reply  and  as  Hallett  waited  slowly 
his  face  whitened.  He  listened,  but  he  could  hear  no 
voices.  He  tried  the  door  and  finding  it  still  bolted 
stood  irresolute.  Then  he  caught  up  his  hat  and  cloak 
from  the  chair  where  he  had  flung  them  and  left  the 
room. 

He  went  down  stairs.  The  bar-room  door  was  ajar 
and  as  he  passed  a  roar  of  laughter  greeted  his  ears. 
Some  one  had  just  finished  telling  a  good  story,  but 
Eichard  Hallett  mistaking  its  cause  stopped  abruptly. 
Then,  realizing  his  position,  he  went  on,  his  hands  shut 
in  anger,  his  face  livid.  The  inn  door  closed  with  a 
heavy  sound  as  he  went  out  into  the  night  where  so 
often  we  carry  our  problems  and  sorrows. 


LOVE'S  LANGUAGE  BUT  XOT  LOVE  309 

A  few  yards  away  the  road  in  front  of  the  inn  turned, 
skirting  the  inn  garden.  Hallett  followed  this  and  as 
he  walked  along  under  the  chill  incurious  stars  pierc 
ing  the  sad  autumnal  night  he  sought  to  find  a  rea 
son  for  Hecla's  surprising  conduct.  He  did  not 
credit  Hetty's  pert  insinuation  that  Hecla  had  been 
alarmed  over  the  slight  altercation  which  had  taken 
place  between  himself  and  Dave's  friends.  Hetty's 
mocking  manner,  as  she  coolly  shut  and  locked  the  door 
in  his  face,  was  an  insult  for  which  he  could  not  believe 
his  wife  in  any  way  responsible.  But  why  had 
Hecla  not  answered  him  ?  Why  had  she  not  opened  the 
door  at  his  demand?  During  the  evening  she  had  ap 
peared  in  unusually  high  spirits,  and  if  she  were  ill  it 
would  have  been  natural  for  her  cousin  to  say  so.  What, 
then,  could  be  the  cause  of  her  strange  behavior? 
Something  told  him  that  it  was  no  caprice  on  Hecla's 
part;  and  for  a  while  he  wondered  if  blight  was  des 
tined  to  fall  on  hi&  dream  of  happiness ;  if  in  his  wife's 
melancholy  eyes  was  to  be  read  the  ruin  of  his  hopes. 
The  dearth  of  the  misty  night  around  him,  the  vague 
pathos  of  the  dying  year,  made  its  way  into  his  heart 
as  he  walked  on. 

He  was  passing  now  by  a  little  gate  that  opened  into 
the  inn  yard  opposite  where  a  flight  of  steps  led  from 
the  ground  to  a  large  second-story  porch  running  the 
length  of  the  house.  He  thought  he  heard  his  name 
called ;  and  looking  up  he  saw  a  shadowy  figure  leaning 
over  the  porch  railing.  At  once  he  pushed  open  the 
gate  into  the  yard  and  recognized  Hetty  as  she  ran 
down  the  steps  to  meet  him. 

"0  Mr.  Hallett,"  she  cried,  "has  thee  seen  Hecla?" 


310  HECLA   S'ANDWITH 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"She  was  not  in  her  room  when  I  went  back  after 
speaking  to  thee.  I'm  worried  about  her — I  fear  some 
thing's  wrong." 

"Why  should  you  fear  that  ?"  he  demanded  quickly. 

"She  seemed  so  unlike  herself.  She  left  me  to  walk 
up  and  down  the  porch,  she  said.  Instead  she  must 
have  left  the  inn." 

"Go  back  to  the  house  and  do  not  speak  of  this  to 
any  one,"  Hallett  hurriedly  directed.  "I  shall  look 
for  her." 

The  inn  garden  ran  sloping  for  some  hundred  yards 
down  to  the  river.  Hallett  felt  sure  that  if  Hecla  had 
left  the  inn  this  was  the  direction  she  had  taken.  In 
deed  any  other  way  would  have  brought  her  on  to  the 
high-road  or  around  by  the  kitchen  where  there  would 
have  been  the  chance  of  encountering  the  servants.  So 
with  hasty  pace  he  followed  the  path  that  led  through  an 
apple  orchard  and  past  an  old  cider-press,  a  stable  and 
outhouses.  The  moon  had  gone  down,  but  the  sky  was 
filled  with  stars,  so  objects  were  half  discernible 
through  the  filming  mist  of  the  damp  autumn  night. 
As  Hallett  approached  the  river  the  mist  grew  thicker. 
Now  he  could  hear  the  lapping  of  the  water  on  the 
shore.  Dread  took  him  as  he  hurried  on.  He  remem 
bered  Dave's  attempted  suicide,  Hecla's  strange,  almost 
tragic,  look;  and  the  abnormally  grave  unchildlike  ways 
of  little  Jervis.  Could  Hecla's  unnatural  animation 
during  the  evening  have  been  followed  by  reactive  de 
pression  that  had  impelled  her  to  some  desperate  act  ? 

He  was  close  to  the  river  now  and  the  mist  only  per 
mitted  seeing  a  few  yards  ahead  with  any  distinctness. 


LOVE'S  LANGUAGE  BUT  NOT  LOVE  311 

His  car  caught  the  slap  of  water  against  the  side  of  a 
boat.  Peering  into  the  mist  from  the  wharf  on  which 
he  stood  he  made  out  a  shadowy  figure  that  he  recog 
nized  as  his  wife. 

"Hecla,"  he  called  out,  "what  are  you  doing?  Why 
are  you  there?" 

He  could  hear  her  utter  a  cry  of  terror.  Then  there 
was  the  sound  of  hasty  fumbling  at  a  chain  attaching 
the  boat  to  the  wharf,  and  before  he  understood  its 
significance  the  chain  slipped  with  a  splash  into  the 
river  and  the  boat,  released,  began  drifting  out  from 
the  shore. 

"Hecla,  are  you  mad  ?"  he  called  again,  wading  into 
the  water.  Muffled  in  a  shawl,  she  crouched  in  the 
stern  of  the  boat,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  alertly. 
She  had  drawn  an  oar  to  her  and  was  trying  without 
knowledge  to  use  it. 

"No,  no/'  she  implored  as  he  waded  toward  her  and 
caught  hold  of  the  boat,  "no,  no,  do  not  compel  me ! 
Have  pity,  Richard!  Oh,  will  nobody  save  me!  Rich 
ard  !  I  can  not !  I  can  not !" 

Hallett's  hand  rested  on  the  edge  of  the  boat,  steady 
ing  it.  The  water  was  up  to  his  waist.  "Hecla!  My 
poor  girl!"  he  said  compassionately,  "what  possesses 
you  to  act  in  this  way  ?  What  has  alarmed  you  so  ?" 

She  was  shivering  violently  and  her  breath  came  in 
sharp  dry  gasps.  She  still  thrust  desperately  in  the 
water  with  the  oar. 

"Ah,  do  not  compel  me,"  she  prayed.  "Have  pity, 
Richard !" 

He  said  soothingly :  "Do  not  be  frightened.  Nobody 
is  going  to  hurt  you !" 


312  HECLA    SANDWITH 

She  continued  to  shiver  as  with  ague,  crouching 
at  the  extreme  end  of  the  boat,  where  he  could  not 
touch  her.  He  could  see  how  suspiciously  she  watched 
him,  how  wild  her  face  was. 

He  waited  a  moment,  then  said  to  her  quietly: 
"Hecla,  you  will  catch  cold  out  here  in  the  mist.  Come 
back  to  the  house  with  me !" 

At  that  she  seemed  to  have  fresh  access  of  terror. 
"No,  no,  do  not  compel  me  to  go  back.  Ah,  how  cruel 
you  are,  how  cruel !" 

"Why  are  you  afraid  of  me,  Hecla?"  he  said  as  one 
persuades  a  child.  "I  shall  not  hurt  you.  I  only  wish 
you  to  come  back  to  the  inn.  You  will  come  ?" 

"No,  let  me  stay,  let  me  stay !    Do  not  make  me  go  I" 

"But  that  is  impossible,  you  can't  stay  all  night  here 
in  the  boat." 

Her  face  fell  despairingly  in  her  hands.  "Ah,  what 
shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do ?" 

"Hecla,  were  you  frightened  at  the  noise  outside  your 
door  ?  Did  you  think  I  had  been  drinking  ?  Is  that  it  ?" 

"No,"  she  breathed. 

"Why  are  you  afraid  of  me  then  ?  Why  did  you  wish 
to  leave  me  ?  How  have  I  offended  you  ?" 

"Forgive  me,  Eichard !" 

"What  is  there  to  forgive?"  he  asked  gently. 

"Oh,  why  did  you  ask  me  to  marry  you?  I  did  not 
know  what  it  all  meant — I  did  not  know !" 

He  considered  her  words  as  she  sat  there,  her  face 
hidden  from  him,  her  breast  rising  and  falling.  Then 
memory  of  his  conversation  with  Wentworth  Oliver 
about  Hecla  came  back  to  him.  He  began  to  divine  the 
cause  of  her  flight  and  terror. 


LOVE'S  LANGUAGE  BUT  NOT  LOVE    313 

"Heel a,"  he  said  gravely  after  a  little,  "can  you  not 
trust  me  when  I  say  that  you  are  safe  with  me?  Only 
have  confidence  and  return  to  the  inn !" 

He  saw  he  was  gradually  calming  her.  At  last  she 
put  out  her  hands  to  him  like  one  appealing  to  a  stern 
judge. 

"What  must  you  think  of  me?"  she  said  with  tears. 
"0  Richard,  I  didn't  understand  what  I  was  doing 
when  I  married  you!  I  didn't  think!  It  was  too  late 
when  I  realized  what  it  meant  to  become  your  wife! 
Then  I  grew  frightened  and  I  came  away — came  out 
here.  If  men  only  understood  women — how  different 
they  are !  When  I  left  you  to-night  down  stairs,  where 
there  were  people,  and  music,  and  dancing,  and  all  that, 
still  I  did  not  think.  It  was  only  when  I  was  alone — 
then,  then  the  fear  came!  I  thought  of  my  mother. 
And  I  remembered  Clover.  Oh,  I  was  there  when" — 
her  voice  failed  her  and  it  was  with  a  shudder  that  she 
murmured  half  to  herself:  "Marriage,  marriage,  how 
terrible  it  is !"  She  bowed  her  head  and  when  she 
raised  it  she  spoke  more  calmly:  "I  kept  thinking  of 
you  as  a  friend.  I  went  on  supposing  that  we  would 
live  our  life  together  as  we  had  lived  it.  Tell  me  you 
forgive  me,  Richard — that  you  understand !" 

She  looked  at  him  tearfully,  her  hands  still  stretched 
out  in  appeal. 

He  was  silent,  not  knowing  what  answer  to  make. 
She  asked  him  if  he  understood.  How  could  he  under 
stand?  As  he  steadied  the  boat,  chilled,  waist-deep  in 
water,  he  tried  to  comprehend  the  strange  situation  in 
which  marriage  had  involved  him.  Could  this  be  the 
woman  he  had  wed — this  stricken,  crouching  girl  who 


314  HECLA    SANDWITH 

had  sought  refuge  from  him  out  here  in  a  boat  at  mid 
night  on  the  mist-laden  river  ? 

Sudden  anger  took  him  at  this  folly,  madness.  He 
thought  of  the  humiliation  of  his  position — the  public 
ridicule  to  which  Hecla  subjected  him.  There  rose  in 
him  a  feeling  almost  of  contempt  for  one  so  unnatural, 
so  unwomanly.  What  insult  to  him;  what  insult  to 
his  love! 

But  the  mood  changed  as  he  gazed  at  her,  dejected, 
terrified ;  and  it  was  pity  only  that  filled  his  heart.  She 
was  not  more  than  twenty-one,  and  the  morbid  shadow  of 
an  unhappy  girlhood  blinded  her  to  the  wrong  she  did 
him.  He  had  won  her  hand  but  her  ignorant  young  heart 
was  not  yet  his.  He  had  promised  to  wait — he  would 
abide  his  time. 

"Hecla,"  he  said  in  a  kind  voice,  "come  back  to  the 
inn.  You  need  not  be  afraid  of  me.  Can't  you  trust 
me  when  I  tell  you  that  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  faltered,  "I  trust  you,  Kichard." 

Silently  he  waded  back  to  the  shore,  drawing  the  boat 
after  him.  On  the  wharf  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"Come,"  he  commanded.  "Come,  Hecla !" 

She  hesitated  for  a  minute,  looking  at  him  still  a  little 
fearful.  Then  she  took  his  hand  and  let  him  help  her 
out  of  the  boat. 

And  together  they  went  through  the  mist  to  the  inn. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    CHORD   OF    SELF 

From  their  brief  bridal  journey  Hecla  returned  to 
Burnham  and  Richard  Hallett  to  Snow  Shoe,  where 
he  lived  at  a  rude  hotel-stand  conveniently  near  the 
coal  fields  in  which  he  was  interested.  The  criticism 
passed  on  Hecla  for  living  in  her  own  home  instead  of 
joining  her  husband  at  Snow  Shoe  was  not  as  severe  as 
might  have  been  expected  from  Dunkirk's  gossips. 
This  was  partly  due  to  the  fact  that  it  was  understood 
she  was  to  go  to  Richard  upon  the  completion  of  the 
new  hotel,  in  which  Mr.  Markham  and  others  had  in 
vested  capital  with  the  hope  of  making  a  summer  re 
sort  of  the  little  mountain  town.  Indeed,  it  was  hardly 
to  be  expected  that  Hecla  should  give  up  a  comfortable 
home  to  endure  the  hardships  of  Snow  Shoe.  The 
quarters  occupied  by  Hallett  were  not  at  all  suitable, 
and  Hecla's  relatives  and  certain  townspeople  who  dis 
approved  of  the  Englishman  were  of  opinion  he  had 
shown  bad  taste  in  marrying  so  prematurely,  before  he 
could  provide  his  wife  with  the  comforts  to  which  she 
was  accustomed. 

Hallett's  belief  in  the  future  of  Snow  Shoe  was,  how 
ever,  his  excuse  for  his  marriage.  The  mine  proved  to 
be  a  rich  one,  and  the  general  public  had  gained  faith 

315 


316  HECLA   SANDWITH 

in  the  mineral  wealth  of  the  region,  so  that  capital  for 
improving  the  town  was  forthcoming  with  such  result 
the  town  in  a  short  time  had  increased  in  size,  and 
various  improvements  had  taken  place  in  its  appear 
ance.  Railroad  surveys  had  been  made,  and  it  was  ex 
pected  that  before  long  there  would  be  a  line  connecting 
the  region  with  the  outside  world.  Hallett,  who  refused 
to  consider  Burnham  his  home,  was  confident  that  by 
the  time  the  handsome  new  hotel  was  finished  Snow 
Shoe  would  be  so  transformed  Hecla  would  not  find 
it  uncongenial  or  lonely. 

People  said  that  Hecla  would  make  an  ideal  wife, 
since  she  had  shown  such  beautiful  devotion  to  her 
father,  and  there  was  every  reason  to  believe  the  flatter 
ing  predictions  were  being  realized. 

Hecla  had  resolved,  when  she  married  Richard  Hal 
lett,  that  she  would  show  herself  a  helpful,  responsive 
companion,  and  in  the  hope  that  she  might  better  meet 
Richard's  serious  tastes,  she  spent  much  time  in  reading 
and  study.  Accustomed  to  be  depended  on  by  her  father 
for  sympathetic  understanding,  she  was  persuaded  that 
her  husband  expected  her  to  fill  a  similar  place  in  his 
life.  Having  told  him  that  she  could  not  reciprocate  his 
love,  Hecla  strove  to  satisfy  him  in  other  phases  of  the 
marriage  relation.  Xot  satisfied  with  giving  him  her  ad 
miration  and  esteem,  she  lost  no  opportunity  in  her  con 
versation  with  others  to  express  the  sentiments  his  char 
acter  inspired  in  her.  Hallett  had  respected  the  uncon 
trollable  feelings  which  had  revealed  themselves  on  their 
wedding  night,  for  he  knew  they  sprang  from  the  deep 
shock  to  her  early  girlhood;  and  Hecla  was  grateful 
to  him  for  the  kindness  and  consideration  he  had 


THE    CHORD    OF    SELF  317 

shown.  It  was  not  her  instinct  to  dwell  on  love's  pas 
sionate  side,  and  having  herself  returned  to  that  old 
quiet  sense  of  companionship  with  him,  which  had 
blinded  her  to  the  full  meaning  of  her  promise  to  Aved 
him,  she  believed  that  Hallett  had  likewise  adjusted 
himself  to  this  idea  of  marriage.  Hallett  had  never 
afterward  alluded  to  Hecla's  flight  from  the  hotel  the 
night  of  their  wedding  and  the  confession  she  had  then 
made  to  him.  Having  a  strong  man's  confidence  in  his 
power  to  win  to  himself  her  weaker  womanhood,  he 
made  no  claims  on  her  affection,  but  waited,  assured 
that  her  morbidity  and  fears  would  vanish  from  her 
heart. 

Hallett's  work  kept  him  a  great  deal  of  the  time  at 
the  mine,  but  he  went  to  Burnham  to  see  his  wife  as 
often  as  possible,  frequently  tramping  the  long  distance 
on  foot  in  the  roughest  weather.  When  they  were  to 
gether  Hecla  at  first  almost  unvaryingly  began  by  ask 
ing  him  about  his  work,  encouraging  him  to  talk  of  his 
ambitions  and  future  plans.  Gradually,  however,  it  be 
came  plain  to  her  that  he  did  not  meet  this  with  the 
pleasure  she  had  anticipated.  Hallett  regarded  his 
hours  with  his  wife  as  an  escape  from  business  cares 
and  felt  little  inclination  to  revive  them  in  Hecla's  so 
ciety.  At  length  she  asked  him  why  he  was  so  loath 
to  discuss  his  practical  affairs  with  her. 

"Because  there  are  so  many  better  things  to  talk 
about/'  he  replied. 

"I  thought  work  was  first  with  you  always,  Rich 
ard." 

"It  is  first  with  me  when  I  am  out  in  the  world, 
Hecla,  but  last  when  I'm  with  you." 


318  HECLA   SANDWITH 

She  was  not  satisfied  with  this  answer,  however; 
she  could  not  help  feeling  that  it  reflected  upon  her 
sympathy  with  and  understanding  of  a  man's  larger 
aims. 

"Then  you  didn't  marry  me  for  intellectual  sym 
pathy.  I  thought  you  liked  an  intelligent  woman." 

"I  married  you  for  something  more  human  than  in 
tellect." 

As  she  spoke  Hecla  twisted  a  button  of  his  coat,  pon 
dering  over  this  unexpected  attitude  of  her  husband 
toward  her.  At  last  the  button  fell  on  the  floor,  and 
as  she  took  her  needle  to  repair  the  damage,  she  mur 
mured  : 

"I  suppose  it  is  a  woman's  fate  never  to  rise  above 
the  rank  of  seamstress  and  cook." 

"It  is  the  little  things  that  count,  Hecla.  They  are 
what  a  man  most  prizes  in  a  wife." 

The  effect  of  this  talk  with  him  showed  itself  in  her 
reading.  She  had  applied  herself  to  many  wearisome 
pages  of  geology  and  other  works  of  science  under  the 
belief  that  she  was  pleasing  him.  He  had  encouraged 
her,  supposing  her  mind  craved  such  knowledge,  and 
often  making  an  effort  to  discuss  what  she  read  when 
he  was  tired.  She  dropped  her  study  now  with  a  sense 
of  diminished  importance  that  was  hard  to  bear.  But 
she  still  talked  to  him  in  German.  She  had  acquired 
some  fluency  in  that  language  at  Lititz,  and  he  knew 
enough  to  make  conversation  possible  between  them. 

"Do  you  like  me  to  talk  to  you  in  German,  Rich 
ard?"  she  asked  him  one  day. 

"It  depends  on  what  we  are  discussing.  It  seems 
unprofitable,  doesn't  it2  for  its  own  sake  ?  I  like  you  to 


THE    CHORD    OF   SELF  319 

talk  in  your  own  tongue  because  then  you  seem  more 
natural — more  like  my  own  wife." 

His  arm  stole  around  her  as  he  spoke,  but  she  moved 
away  from  him,  wounded  that  he  took  her  efforts  at 
self-improvement  so  lightly. 

Sometimes  she  commented  on  the  infrequency  of  his 
visits,  taxing  him  half-seriously  with  growing  indif 
ference  as  the  cause.  She  resented,  too,  that  he  came, 
as  he  often  said,  when  he  was  fatigued  from  overwork 
and  craved  solace  and  quiet  from  business  thoughts. 

"Why  do  you  come  only  when  you  are  tired  ?"  she  de 
manded.  "Don't  you  need  to  see  me  at  other  times  ?" 

"You  know  I  need  you  always/'  he  answered,  letting 
his  eyes  dwell  fondly  on  her  half-averted  face.  "I  long 
for  the  day  to  arrive  when  we  shall  never  be  separated. 
We  must  look  forward  to  that,  Hecla !" 

"Yes,  we  must  look  forward  to  that,"  she  echoed 
mechanically.  She  sat  a  while  in  thoughtful  silence. 
Then  she  said  abruptly: 

"Richard,  why  won't  you  accept  any  help  from  me? 
I  told  you  what  great  happiness  it  would  be  to  divide 
my  income  with  you.  You  could  be  so  much  more  com 
fortable." 

"You  know  I  can  not  agree  to  that,  Hecla !" 

"But  you  are  so  handicapped  for  want  of  capital. 
Why  don't  you  take  part  of  my  fortune  and  invest  it 
at  Snow  Shoe?  I  feel  selfish,  having  so  much  more 
than  you.  Let  me  lend  you  the  money,  then,  and  you 
can  repay  me  when  your  mine  succeeds." 

"You  know  how  I  feel  on  the  subject  of  your  fortune, 
Hecla.  We  have  discussed  it  several  times  before,  and 
I  seldom  change  my  mind." 


320  HECLA    SANDWITH 

"It  seems  such  an  injustice  that  a  man  of  your  abil 
ity  should  be  paid  so  little  for  his  services.  I  think  Mr. 
Markham  ought  to  give  you  a  larger  salary  ftfr  your 
management  of  the  mine.  Does  he  value  you  no  more 
than  that?" 

"Mr.  Markham  does  value  my  services,  Hecla,  and  he 
pays  me  what  he  can.  He  knows,  too,  that  I  have  had 
other  advantageous  offers  from  English  mine-owners." 

"You  refused  them  and  never  told  me  ?" 

"Why  trouble  you  with  such  practical  matters?  I 
made  up  my  mind  what  I  should  do  if  I  received  other 
offers  before  they  came.  I  intend  to  stay  at  Snow  Shoe 
and  make  a  success  of  the  mine  there." 

"And  you  considered  me,  too,"  she  said  gratefully. 
"You  knew  I  shouldn't  want  to  leave  Dunkirk." 

"No,  Hecla,  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  my  refus 
ing,"  he  said  with  his  characteristic  candor.  "I  be 
lieved  it  my  duty  to  stand  by  Mr.  Markham  and  the 
mine." 

Somehow  she  felt  unreasonably  hurt  at  this  reply. 
He  recognized  his  duty  toward  Mr.  Markham  and  their 
business  investments,  but  did  his  words  not  prove  his 
lack  of  consideration  for  her?  She  began  to  fancy  he 
loved  her  less  and,  womanlike,  the  thought  increased 
her  feeling  for  him  a  little.  A  certain  softness  crept 
into  the  tone  with  which  she  spoke  to  him  sometimes 
when  they  were  alone  together,  and  she  gave  him  many 
small  marks  of  regard  new  in  their  intercourse ;  but  the 
effect  of  this  upon  him  alarmed  her  and  she  returned  to 
the  self-poise  of  their  calmer  relations. 

With  the  point  of  her  finger  she  idly  traced  the 
cord-like  veins  of  his  masterful  hand. 


THE    CHORD    OF   SELF  321, 

"How  cold  your  touch,  is,  Hecla !"  he  smiled. 

"And  how  hot  yours  is  I"  she  answered.  "I  often 
fancy  you  have  fever.  Richard,  are  you  sure  you're 
well  ?" 

"Yes,,  I'm  perfectly  well." 

But  he  was  not  in  the  robust  health  he  had  enjoyed 
up  to  the  time  of  his  coming  to  Dunkirk.  The  ex 
acting  work  of  overseeing  the  mine,  the  endurance  of 
rough  weather,  the  hundred  details  of  business  which 
claimed  his  attention,  were  taxing  his  constitution. 
He  could  have  thrown  off  the  effects  of  his  hard  toil 
some  life  were  it  not  for  sleeplessness  at  night.  Pas 
sion  preyed  upon  him,  man  that  he  was  of  strong 
though  reserved  emotion.  He  never  told  Hecla  of  the 
long  hours  when  he  lay  on  his  solitary  bed,  open-eyed, 
thinking  of  her,  stirred  by  the  longings  of  love.  Often, 
to  dispel  these  harassing  moods  and  appealing  images 
of  the  night  hours,  he  lit  his  candle  and  read  until  dawn 
brought  the  absorptions  of  another  day. 

The  heavy  snows  of  a  rigorous  winter  had  fallen  upon 
the  world  and  the  trip  to  Snow  Shoe  was  so  difficult 
that  Hecla  had  never  made  her  husband  a  visit.  But 
as  the  spring  came  on  she  went  to  see  the  mine  and 
view  the  changes  that  had  taken  place  in  the  little 
mountain  town.  Snow  Shoe  was  on  a  bench  of  the 
Alleghanies,  and  the  small  tavern  where  Hallett  had 
his  quarters  was  so  situated  the  eye  swept  a  wide  ex 
panse  of  cleared  land  that  melted  into  distant  blue 
ranges  broken  by  rocky  peaks ;  in  addition  to  the  town 
only  handfuls  of  miners'  huts  relieved  the  barrenness 
of  the  landscape.  The  tavern  was  a  small  cheaply-built 
structure,  intended  to  accommodate  travelers  on  the 


323  HECLA    SANDWITH 

stage  that  ran  once  a  week  from  Dunkirk  to  small  ham 
lets  scattered  through  the  region.  Hecla  found  the  din 
ner  wretched.  She  criticized  this,  but  not  ill-naturedly. 
The  rudeness  of  Snow  Shoe  revolted  her. 

"How  wild  and  bleak  it  is  here,"  she  sighed,  "and 
how  unpromising!" 

"You  must  look  at  it  with  the  eyes  of  faith — see  it 
as  it  will  be  a  few  years  hence,  when  it  will  be  a  nourish 
ing  town." 

"It  takes  a  good  deal  of  faith,  doesn't  it  ?  I  ought  to 
borrow  Harmony's  eyes  for  that:  she  is  so  good  at  such 
things." 

"Yes,  what  a  dear  girl  Harmony  is !" 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  had  found  her  more  con 
genial  than  I  am,  Eichard.  ISTow  you  know  me,  aren't 
you  sorry  sometimes  that  you  asked  me  to  marry  you  ?" 

"Hecla,  I  have  begged  you  never  to  speak  so.  You  are 
the  only  woman  I  ever  wished  to  have  as  wife." 

"Let  me  see  your  rooms,"  she  said. 

He  had  a  sitting-room  with  an  adjoining  bedcham 
ber.  Hecla,  as  she  entered,  thought  how  poor  and  dingy 
his  quarters  were. 

"And  so  this  is  how  you  live !"  she  exclaimed  in  dis 
tress.  "I  believed  you  were  more  comfortable.  0  Eich 
ard,  why  have  you  never  told  me?  There  is  so  much  I 
could  have  done  to  make  the  rooms  brighter." 

"I  need  nothing,  Hecla.  It  is  not  a  lack  of  furniture 
that  makes  the  rooms  seem  empty  to  me  sometimes. 
You  see,"  he  added,  "the  rooms  are  big  enough  for 
two.  So  if  ever — " 

She  turned  from  him  nervously.  Something  she 
could  not  have  analvzed  made  her  heart  ache. 


THE    CHORD    OF    SELF  323 

"Richard,  if  my  home  were  only  nearer,"  she  sighed. 
"You  could  live  there — live  as  a  gentleman  should." 

"Wait,"  he  answered  with  a  cheerful  smile.  "Wait 
until  the  town  has  grown  and  the  new  hotel  is  ready. 
Then  everything  will  be  different,  and  I  shall  be  more 
than  happy,  Hecla !" 

She  was  moving  about,  curiously  examining  his  be 
longings.  Here  and  there  a  touch  struck  her.  "Why, 
Richard,"  she  remarked,  "you  have  quite  a  woman's  hand 
at  arranging  your  rooms.  I  had  not  supposed  a  man 
could  do  so  well." 

"I  did  not  arrange  them.  Harmony  came  up  one  day 
and  did  it.  I  thought  it  so  kind  of  her." 

"Harmony !"  she  exclaimed.   "She  never  told  me." 

"It  was  during  your  visit  to  your  sister  Lucia,  I 
think." 

"And  why  did  you,  Richard,  never  speak  of  it,  either? 
If  you  wished  your  rooms  arranged  for  you,  could  you 
not  have  asked  me?"  She  spoke  with  quick  emotion. 

"I  did  not  ask  Harmony.  She  came  of  her  own  ac 
cord.  It  was  not  necessary  for  her  to  do  it,  Hecla.  If 
it  mattered  I  should  have  asked  you,  of  course.  A  man 
does  not  consider  trifles  like  that." 

She  could  not  conquer  her  pain,  however.  She  was 
wounded,  indignant  at  Harmony.  How  officious  of  her 
and  what  bad  taste  to  come!  And  never  to  have  men 
tioned  her  visit !  She  looked  out  of  the  window  biting 
her  lip. 

"Richard,  I  thought  you  had  no  secrets  from  me," 
she  said  wretchedly. 

"I  have  none,  Hecla," 

"You  do  not  love  me,"  she  cried,  choking. 


324:  HECLA   SANDWITH 

He  caught  her  to  his  heart  with  a  passion  of  tender 
ness,  hut  she  struggled  out  of  his  arms. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  asked,  repulsed.  "What 
has  hurt  you  so  ?" 

With  an  effort  she  repressed  her  tears. 

"It  is  nothing/'  she  said.  "Only  you  ought  to  respect 
me  enough  to  have  forbidden  Harmony's  doing  what  I 
only  should  have  done." 

It  was  time  for  the  stage  to  start  for  Dunkirk,  and 
as  he  helped  Hecla  on  with  her  wraps  he  looked  at  her 
with  all  his  love  in  his  grave  weather-browned  face. 

"Hecla,"  he  said,  "now  that  you  have  come  to  me  I 
feel  as  if  I  couldn't  let  you  go.  Why  must  you  leave 
me?" 

"You  know  that  I  must  go,  Bichard." 

"Only  another  day — only  until  to-morrow!" 

She  trembled  at  his  look. 

"The  stage  will  be  leaving,"  she  said  nervousty, 
drawing  her  hands  from  his  detaining  clasp. 

He  stood  at  the  door  of  the  inn  watching  the  coach 
roll  away.  Hecla  leaned  out  and  waved  her  hand  to 
him  and  he  returned  the  greeting  with  a  smile.  Then 
he  went  back  to  his  rooms  and,  sitting  down,  opened  a 
hook.  But  he  did  not  read.  And  slowly  the  light  of 
day  faded  while  he  remained  in  a  reverie.  How  much 
her  presence  in  his  poor  quarters  had  meant !  Now  that 
she  was  gone  the  brightness  that  had  filled  them  was 
gone,  too.  He  aroused  himself  at  length  with  a  sigh. 
"What  a  dreamer  I  am !"  he  exclaimed,  and  lighting 
the  lamp,  he  took  paper  and  pen  and  began  writing  an 
article  for  the  newspaper  on  Snow  Shoe  and  Its  'Re 
sources. 


THE    CHORD    OP    SELF  '325 

Six  months  had  passed  since  Hecla's  marriage,  and 
while  she  had  thought  much  on  the  subject  she  had 
not  yet  spoken  to  her  husband  of  his  entering  into  part 
nership  with  Dave  in  the  management  of  the  Works. 
Powerful  as  the  idea  had  been  in  influencing  her  in 
bestowing  her  hand  on  one  she  did  not  love,  she  shrank 
from  the  idea  that  it  was  time  to  act.  True,  she  had 
touched  on  the  plan  in  a  conversation  with  her  brother, 
putting  it  in  the  form  of  a  question  whether  he  would 
not  like  to  have  Richard's  help  and  advice  in  conduct 
ing  his  business,  and  it  was  partly  due  to  Dave's  instant 
offense  and  accusation  that  she  desired  to  displace  him 
to  foster  her  husband's  interests  she  let  the  matter 
drop.  She  could  not,  in  fact,  have  gone  further  than  to 
suggest  the  arrangement  to  Dave,  since  the  lease  she  had 
signed  had  not  yet  expired,  and  he  was  therefore  for  the 
time  being  master  of  the  furnace. 

Hecla  had,  also,  as  a  further  excuse  for  shirking  her 
responsibility,  the  change  in  Dave  since  his  attempt  at 
taking  his  life.  He  had  been  sobered  by  the  trouble 
into  which  his  dissipations  had  led  him,  and  had  made 
a  real  effort  to  keep  his  vows  of  reformation.  He  had 
also  applied  himself  more  diligently  to  his  business. 
Hecla,  beholding  this,  was  quick  to  accept  it  as  a  com 
plete  justification  of  her  faith  in  her  brother.  She  felt 
indeed  almost  a  pride  in  him  when,  just  before  her 
marriage,  the  half-year's  settlement  with  the  estate  fall 
ing  due,  Dave  promptly  met  the  obligation. 

To  do  this  he  had  resorted  to  borrowing  a  large  sum 
of  money.  Hecla's  marriage  had  filled  him  with  alarm ; 
he  had  not  forgotten  that  his  sister  had  used  the  Eng 
lishman's  name  to  force  him  to  marry  Clover  Littlepage. 


326  HECLA    SANDWITH 

He  had  therefore  considered  it  urgent  that  he  should 
give  Hecla  no  grounds  for  dissatisfaction  with  him  by 
defaulting  in  the  autumn  payment. 

Unfortunately,  immediately  after  he  had  given  his 
note  for  this  large  amount,  had  come  the  panic  of  fifty- 
seven,  which  had  so  seriously  demoralized  the  country 
that  Dave,  like  other  iron-masters  of  Pennsylvania,  had 
shut  down  the  Works  until  times  improved.  However, 
as  the  financial  crisis  continued  longer  than  he  had  an 
ticipated,  Dave  relighted  Hecla  Furnace,  saying  that  it 
was  better  to  sell  iron  for  a  short  time  at  cost  rather 
than  have  the  Works  stand  idle.  The  price  of  metal 
obstinately  remained  low  during  the  winter,  so  that  by 
spring  Dave  found  himself  seriously  involved. 

It  was  shortly  after  Hecla's  visit  to  Snow  Shoe  that 
he  confessed  as  much  to  his  sister,  laying  his  trouble 
to  the  account  of  the  panic,  which  had  so  crippled 
business  at  large.  So  convincingly  did  he  present  his 
case  that  Hecla  was  won  over  to  Dave's  point  of  view, 
and  agreed  with  him  that  he  was  the  victim  of  per 
sistent  bad  luck.  Dave  proposed  that  a  mortgage  be 
placed  on  the  Works.  He  had  embarrassed  himself,  he 
argued,  as  much  for  her  sake  as  his  own,  and  it  was 
only  fair  that  she  should  come  to  his  rescue.  By  mort 
gaging  the  property  he  would  be  able  to  go  on  with  the 
business  and  thus  meet  the  good  times,  which  were  near 
at  hand  and  would  again  set  him  on  his  feet. 

It  was  necessary,  however,  to  gain  Wentworth's  con 
sent  to  the  mortgage,  and  Hecla  went  at  once  to  his 
office,  promising  Dave  to  plead  his  cause  eloquently. 

Far  from  approving  the  scheme,  Wentworth  took  the 
position  that  the  Works  had  better  be  sold. 


THE    CHOED    OF    SELF  327 

"Sell  the  Works,  Wentworth !"  Hecla  exclaimed,  look 
ing  her  indignant  reproach.  "Why,  rather  than  that  I 
would  sacrifice  every  penny  I  own.  The  furnace  is  a 
monument  to  father's  memory,  a  reminder  to  every 
body  of  his  business  genius.  How  can  you  propose  such 
a  thing !  I  should  feel  as  if  I  had  sold  my  birthright !" 

"That  is  my  opinion,  Hecla.  It  is  the  only  wise  thing 
to  do.  I  appreciate  your  feelings  about  the  Works, 
but  the  situation  is  too  serious  to  permit  of  sentiment. 
David  has  involved  himself  more  and  more,  and  I  have 
no  belief  in  his  power  to  extricate  himself.  I  can  see 
only  ruin  ahead  if  he  continues  the  management.  You 
know  I  expressed  the  same  view  of  the  case  when  you 
defended  him  in  the  matter  of  the  first  payment.  I 
warned  you  then  that  you  were  doing  wrong  to  lend 
him  the  money  to  make  up  his  deficit  to  the  estate.  He 
met  the  last  payment,  it  is  true,  but  how  did  he  do  it  ? 
By  borrowing  the  money.  I  should  consider  myself  false 
to  my  trusteeship  if  I  consented  to  the  mortgage.  No, 
the  only  thing  is  to  sell.  I  am  sorry,  Hecla,  but  that 
is  the  stand  I  am  compelled  to  take.  Eemember,  you 
have  Jervis  to  consider  as  well  as  Dave." 

"You  have  never  done  Dave  justice/'  was  her  quick 
answer.  "You  look  at  everything  concerning  him 
through  your  prejudice,  Wentworth !  David  has  had  to 
contend  against  the  world's  bad  opinion  and  the  out 
rageous  stigma  of  Benjamin  Truelove's  prediction.  I 
admit  he  has  committed  follies,  has  shown  himself 
weak  in  some  ways,  but  he  has  fought  his  failings 
bravely  and  devoted  himself  conscientiously  to  his  busi 
ness  the  last  half-year.  He  never  would  have  got  into 
his  present  difficulties  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  panic." 


328  HECLA   SANDWITH 

"The  panic,  yes,  but  it  is  Dave  all  the  same.  Hecla, 
you  are  blind  to  your  brother's  faults.  You  speak  of 
him  as  a  victim  of  circumstances.  The  plea  is  almost 
a  condemnation  in  itself.  A  man  makes  his  circum 
stances.  Dave  had  no  handicaps  when  Uncle  Joshua 
leased  the  furnace  to  him;  the  business  was  the  finest 
in  the  county.  Think  of  the  condition  to  which  he  has 
reduced  it  in  two  years !  I  am  confident  that  if  the 
Works  had  been  in  good  hands  there  would  be  no  need 
now  of  discussing  its  sale  I" 

She  looked  at  him  remorsefully.  "Wentworth,  do  you 
really  mean  what  you  say?  Do  you/'  sbe  hesitated  for 
a  moment,  "do  you  think  that  if  Eichard,  for  instance, 
had  taken  charge  of  the  business,  it  would  have  tided 
the  panic?" 

"Your  husband  has  no  practical  knowledge  of  iron- 
making,  but  he  is  the  kind  of  man  who  would  quickly 
master  details.  Yes,  I  think  he'd  have  made  a  success 
of  the  Works  just  as  he  is  making  a  success  of  Snow 
Shoe." 

"And  you  think  he  might  save  it  yet  ?" 

"It  is  quite  possible.  Business  success  is  mostly  a 
matter  of  energy  and  good  sense ;  he  certainly  has  those 
requisites." 

"Then,"  she  answered,  "there  is  no  further  need  of 
considering  the  sale.  I  shall  ask  Richard  to  take  charge 
of  the  Works." 

"But  how  can  he  do  so,  Hecla,  with  his  mine  and 
other  interests  at  Snow  Shoe  ?  I  doubt  whether  he  will 
be  willing  to  give  up  his  work  there.  You  know  how 
his  heart  is  set  on  making  a  success  of  his  mine." 

"You  quite  mistake  my  husband,  Wentworth,"  she 


THE    CHORD    OF    SELF  329 

said  proudly,  "if  you  imagine  he  will  be  unwilling  to  do> 
what  I  ask.    If  the  furnace  can  be  saved  through  his 
taking  charge,  you  may  count  on  his  consent." 
"But,  Hecla,  isn't  that  demanding  a  great  deal  ?" 
"Demanding  a  great  deal?"  she  echoed.    "Richard 
knows  how  I  love  the  old  furnace  my  father  left  me. 
He  will  be  glad  to  do  anything  to  save  it." 

As  Hecla  walked  home  she  thought  of  how  she  might 
best  reconcile  Dave  to  the  necessity  of  yielding  place  to 
her  husband  in  the  control  of  the  Works.  His  pride 
would  make  it  hard  for  him  for  a  while,  but  his  good 
sense  would  conquer  in  the  end.  He  and  Richard  would 
give  Hecla  Furnace  the  prestige  it  had  enjoyed  under 
her  father's  firm  hand.  Surely  Dave  would  prefer  this 
arrangement  to  seeing  the  Works  pass  out  of  the  family 


possession 


When  her  husband  came  to  Burnham  in  obedience  to 
a  message  that  she  wished  to  see  him  at  once,  Hecla 
laid  the  situation  before  him:  how  embarrassed  David 
was ;  his  proposition  to  place  a  mortgage  on  the  Works ; 
and  Wentworth's  disapprobation  of  the  scheme. 

"I  want  your  opinion,  Richard,"  she  continued. 
"Wentworth  is  prejudiced  against  my  brother,  and  I 
have  never  forgotten  what  you  said  to  me  about  Dave 
on  the  ride  to  Moshannon  Hall.  Tell  me,  do  you  dis 
approve  of  the  mortgage  ?" 

"I  must  say  I  agree  with  Wentworth,  Hecla." 

"But,"  she  replied  disappointedly,  "I  thought  you 
were  different  from  the  rest.  I  counted  on  your  belief 
in  my  brother !" 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  belief  in  your  brother,  but 
of  prudence.  I  know  very  little  practically  about  iron 


330  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

furnaces,  but  as  a  general  thing  I  object  to  mortgages. 
They  encumber  property  and,  judging  from  the  present 
business  outlook,  I  think  a  serious  risk  is  run  in  mort 
gaging  the  furnace.  I  should  say  it  were  infinitely 
better  to  sell,  if  you  get  a  good  offer." 

She  did  not  contest  his  opinion  further,  since  it  con 
curred  with  Wentworth's.  It  was  the  view  of  two  practi 
cal  men  against  her  inexperienced  woman's  judgment. 
She  therefore  decided  to  speak  at  once  of  the  plan  of 
Eichard's  taking  charge  of  the  Works  in  partnership 
with  Dave. 

"Bichard,"  she  began,  "ever  since  my  visit  to  Snow 
Shoe  I  have  been  troubled  over  the  discomfort  of  your 
life  there.  I  suppose  you  have  wondered  sometimes 
that  I  have  never  alluded  to  the  partnership  arrange 
ment.  But  you  know  David  leased  the  Works  before 
our  marriage." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Hecla,  by  'the  partnership  ar 
rangement'?"  he  asked. 

"Why,  your  helping  David  manage  the  furnace,  of 
course,"  she  answered  with  a  little  gesture  of  impa 
tience.  "You  must  surely  have  considered  the  prob 
ability  of  your  connection  with  the  Works.  Why,  half 
Dunkirk  expected  that  you  would  go  into  business  with 
David  as  soon  as  you  married  me." 

"The  idea  never  crossed  my  mind,  Hecla." 

"Ah,  Bichard,"  she  said  with  a  grateful  look  and 
quick  softening  of  the  voice,  "that  was  because  you 
have  always  had  such  faith  in  my  brother,  wasn't  it? 
It  hasn't  been  Dave's  fault  that  he  has  got  into  diffi 
culties.  I  thought  you'd  sympathize  with  me  in  oppos 
ing  Wentworth  whenever  he  found  fault  with  my 


THE    CHORD    OF   SELF  331 

brother's  ability.  It  is  because  of  such  feelings  that 
I  want  you  and  him  to  be  partners.  You  respect  each 
other — and  that  is  so  much." 

"But,  Hecla,"  her  husband  interrupted  in  surprise, 
"I  can't  go  into  partnership  with  your  brother;  I  have 
my  mine  and  I  am  pledged  to  Mr.  Markham  to  make  it 
a  success.  It's  the  ambition  of  my  life  to  develop  the 
coal  industry  of  Snow  Shoe." 

"Yes,  I  know  how  faithfully  you've  worked  for  Mr. 
Markham,"  she  said  hastily,  "but,  Richard,  surely  he 
will  understand  why  you  resign  your  management  of  the 
mine.  He  can  hardly  expect  you  not  to  help  Dave  in  his 
present  straits." 

"It  is  not  the  question  of  Mr.  Markham's  feelings, 
Hecla,  it  is  what  I  feel  myself.  I  should  consider  that 
I  had  treated  him  outrageously  if  I  threw  up  my  man 
agement  of  the  mine." 

"But  you  don't  seem  to  realize  that  you  are  really 
needed;  that  the  condition  of  affairs  at  the  Works  is 
desperate.  In  Wentworth's  opinion  it  is  a  question  of 
selling  the  property  or  having  your  help." 

"It  does  not  alter  the  fact,"  he  returned,  "that  I  am 
bound  to  Mr.  Markham,  Hecla.  If  it  were  say  a  half- 
year  hence,  it  might  be  feasible  for  me  to  consider  the 
idea;  but  Snow  Shoe  is  in  its  most  critical  stage  of  de 
velopment.  It  is  not  too  much  to  claim  that  just  now 
my  presence  at  Snow  Shoe  is  indispensable  to  Mr. 
Markham ;  that  the  loss  of  my  services  would  be  a  seri 
ous  handicap  to  the  success  of  the  mine." 

"You  would  let  my  father's  furnace  go  to  ruin,  Rich 
ard!"  was  her  exclamation.  "Don't  you  realize  its 
failure  will  make  me  a  poor  woman  ?" 


332  HECLA   8ANDWITH 

"A  poor  woman!"  he  said  with  a  smile.  "I  often 
wish  you  were  a  poor  woman,  Hecla,  for  the  pleasure 
and  pride  I  should  feel  in  giving  you  everything.  Your 
wealth  has  never  mattered  to  me.  You  need  not  fear 
poverty  through  the  failure  of  the  furnace.  It  will  only 
be  a  short  time — perhaps  no  more  than  a  year — when 
I  shall  be  a  rich  man.  We  only  need  the  railway  to 
open  out  the  region  and  the  future  of  Snow  Shoe  is 
assured/' 

She  looked  at  him  as  though  her  surprise  bewildered 
her ;  she  never  for  a  moment  had  doubted  that  Richard 
would  accept  the  management  of  the  Works;  she  had 
indeed  even  pictured  him  accepting  with  emotions  al 
most  of  gratitude.  To  Hccla  her  father's  business  on 
the  verge  of  failure  represented  a  far  more  honorable 
occupation  for  her  husband  than  Snow  Shoe,  in  its 
brilliant  promise  of  success. 

"Richard/'  she  controlled  her  voice  with  an  effort, 
"am  I  to  understand  then  that  you  refuse  to  go  into 
partnership  with  Dave?" 

He  watched  her  face  grow  tense  with  angry  disap 
pointment;  and  he  said  gently: 

"Hecla,  it  pains  me  to  seem  indifferent  to  your  in 
terests,  but  my  refusal  is  a  matter  of  honor,  of  fairness 
to  Mr.  Markham.  Would  you  want  your  husband  to 
be  false  to  his  obligations?  It  is  my  duty  to  stand  by 
the  mine." 

"You  are  very  particular  about  your  duty  to  others, 
Richard,"  she  retorted  with  bitterness.  "But  do  you 
remember  your  duty  to  me — your  wife?  You  claim 
you  love  me,  yet  you  fail  me  at  such  a  time — fail  me  in  a 
matter  so  vital  to  me  and  my  family.  Why,"  she  cried, 


THE    CHORD    OF    SELF  333 

drawing  a  quick  breath,  "when  I  married  you  I  felt 
almost  as  if  you  had  given  me  your  solemn  promise  you 
would  help  Dave  if  necessary!" 

Her  words  were  like  an  accusation,  and  his  voice 
showed  that  he  felt  her  injustice. 

"I  do  not  understand  how  you  could  have  felt  that 
our  marriage  implied  such  a  promise.  I  remember  no 
occasion  in  which  the  matter  was  discussed  between  us. 
You  knew  at  the  time  of  my  business  investments ;  how 
it  was  my  dearest  ambition  to  make  a  success  of  the 
mine." 

"My  father's  letter — "  she  began ;  then  pride  stopped 
her  lips.  Why  should  she  tell  him  how  her  father  de 
pended  on  him;  and  of  his  distrust  of  David. 

"And  so,"  she  continued  after  a  passionate  pause,  "I 
must  inform  Wentworth  that  my  husband  has  failed 
me — that  I  trusted  too  much  to  his  affection !" 

Her  hands  were  wrung  together  and  she  bit  her  lip 
to  suppress  her  emotion.  He  noted  this  and  the  white 
ness  of  her  look. 

"Hecla,"  he  said  gently,  "do  you  think  you  are  quite 
just  to  me?  Don't  you  see  that  I  love  you  too  dearly 
ever  to  want  to  grow  less  in  your  eyes  by  acting  weakly 
and  against  my  own  convictions  of  right?"  He  let  one 
hand  fall  lightly  on  her  shoulder  as  he  stood  looking 
down  upon  her  where  she  sat,  her  brooding  eyes  half 
closed  and  fixed  on  the  carpet.  "What  would  you 
think  of  me  if  I  forfeited  my  self-respect,  even  to  save 
your  father's  furnace?  You  will  come  to  look  at  my 
refusal  in  the  right  light,  Hecla,  and  be  glad  of  it." 

"I  shall  never  see  it  in  any  other  light  but  the 
truth,"  was  the  reply.  "Ambition  is  first  with  you, 


334  HECLA    SANDWITH 

your  wife  second.  You  want  to  prove  to  the  world  that 
it  was  mistaken  in  its  opinion  of  Snow  Shoe  and  you 
sacrifice  me  rather  than  your  pride."  She  rose  and 
going  to  the  fireplace  leaned  there,  her  face  hidden 
from  him.  "I  can  hardly  believe,"  she  said  after  a 
moment  of  silence,  "that  you  are  the  same  man  I  mar 
ried  with  such  confidence.  Eichard,  how  you  have 
disappointed  me!"  Her  lip  quivered;  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears. 

He  went  to  her,  saying  patiently:  "Hecla,  you  are 
angry,  blinded  by  your  feelings.  You  will  regret  your 
words  when  you  consider  the  matter  calmly." 

"No,"  she  answered,  "I  shall  not  regret  my  words. 
My  faith  in  you  is  shaken.  I  shall  never  feel  the  same 
towards  you.  How  can  you  expect  me  to  believe  you 
love  me  when  you  refuse  to  save  my  brother  from 
failure !" 

"I  love  you  and  still  refuse  to  do  what  you  ask  of 
me,"  he  answered,  and  she  could  see  that  while  his 
voice  was  full  of  kindness  she  had  not  moved  his  will. 
"You  are  mistaken,  Hecla:  it  is  not  ambition  that  is 
first  with  me ;  it  is  honor." 

When  he  had  left  her  she  threw  herself  among  the 
pillows  on  the  sofa.  "Why,  why,  did  I  marry  him?" 
she  asked  herself  bitterly.  Then  after  a  little:  "0 
Wentworth,  Wentworth !" 


CHAPTEE  X 

THE  STRONG   NECESSITY  OF  LOVING 

It  was  a  late  autumn  afternoon,  a  year  after  Hecla's 
marriage.  Mr.  Donovan  was  getting  on  his  horse  in 
front  of  Mrs.  Tathem's  boarding-house  when  the  judge 
of  the  county  court,  who  was  one  of  his  parishioners, 
paused  to  speak  to  him. 

"Off  on  your  circuit,  I  suppose,"  he  said  in  his  gruff 
voice.  "You  and  Proudfoot  seem  to  have  a  wager  as  to 
which  of  you  can  do  the  most  good  for  the  community. 
And  both  equally  badly  paid  for  your  services !  I  often 
tell  Proudfoot  he  ought  to  collect  his  bills,  but  when  he 
needs  money  he  prefers  to  borrow  rather  than  do  that. 
He'd  be  living  in  comfort  if  he  got  what  people  owe  him. 
I  think  the  legislature  ought  to  frame  a  law  empowering 
physicians  of  the  soul  to  collect  bills  for  their  physick 
ing — so  much  for  every  soul  saved." 

Just  then  Empty  Ned,  the  village  half-wit,  passed 
along  the  street  with  his  strange  dancing  gait,  and  see 
ing  Mr.  Donovan,  came  up  to  him  eagerly,  saying : 

"I'm  off  to-day  to  get  married,  Mr.  Donovan,  but  I'll 
be  back  in  time  to  pump  the  organ  next  Sunday." 

"Very  well,  Ned,"  Mr.  Donovan  answered  at  this  oft- 
repeated  announcement,  "and  don't  forget  to  come  to 
early  morning  service." 

The  poor  fellow's  face  shone  with  sudden  joy.  "I'll 
335 


336  HECLA   SANDWITH 

be  there,  Mr.  Donovan.  I  wouldn't  miss  communion 
to  get  married  twice  over  I" 

"I  hope  your  bride  is  as  good  a  church  member  as 
you,  Ned,"  the  judge  smiled,  feeling  in  his  pocket. 
"Here's  something  for  a  wedding  gift,"  Empty  Xed 
took  the  silver  the  judge  slipped  into  his  hand,  and 
skipped  off  gaily,  laughing  and  swinging  his  old  fur  cap. 

"I  am  glad,  Donovan,"  the  judge  remarked  as  they 
looked  after  him,  "that  you  persuaded  the  bishop  to 
allow  Ned  to  be  confirmed.  He's  not  the  empty  vessel 
he's  thought  to  be  by  people  who  congratulate  them 
selves  on  their  own  holiness.  Yes,  poor  Xed  was  a 
touching  sight  at  his  first  communion !  I  used  to  think 
about  him  nights,  worrying  over  the  poor  boy's  hunger 
for  salvation,  and  I  found  it  difficult  to  go  through 
service  knowing  he  was  up  there  in  the  organ-loft  cry 
ing  because  he  wanted  to  go  to  the  Lord's  Supper  with 
the  others.  On  what  mission  are  you  bound  to-day?" 

"I  am  going  out  to  Snow  Shoe." 

"Well,  I  hope  those  miners  appreciate  your  labors 
for  their  good." 

"I  appreciate  the  good  they  do  me,"  was  the  answer. 

"And  your  friend,  Hallett,  how  is  he  getting  on  with 
his  work  there  ?" 

"I  believe  the  mine  is  doing  splendidly  now.  It  has 
been  a  struggle  and  Hallett's  health  shows  the  strain. 
He's  a  strong  man,  but — " 

"You  mean  his  married  life?  I  confess,  I  can  not 
understand  Hecla  Sandwith.  She  was  a  noble  daughter 
to  old  Joshua,  and  seemed  to  have  the  making  of  an 
excellent  wife.  What  the  devil  did  she  marry  Hallett 
for  if  she  didn't  intend  to  live  with  him !" 


THE   NECESSITY   OF   LOVING         337 

"It  does  seem  strange,"  Donovan  admitted  reluctantly, 
for  he  was  not  given  to  gossiping  over  his  friends'  af 
fairs,  "but  you  know,  Judge,  I'm  prejudiced.  I  am 
very  fond  of  Hallett  and  I  fear  I  have  never  liked  his 
wife." 

"No,  and  she  has  never  forgiven  you  your  quarrel 
with  her  father,  has  she  ?  What  a  hot-blooded  old  fellow 
Joshua  was,  but  as  honest  as  the  day  is  long !  And  there 
was  a  big  heart  under  that  plain  coat  of  his,  too !  I  fear 
the  Works  are  not  in  as  good  hands  now.  Why  doesn't 
Hallett  take  hold  there?  He's  badly  needed,  I  under 
stand." 

"Hallett's  heart  is  set  on  making  Snow  Shoe  a  suc 
cess.  I  doubt  if  anything  could  induce  him  to  abandon 
his  work  at  the  mines.  It's  a  matter  of  pride  with  him, 
you  know.  People  doubted  that  Snow  Shoe  had  any 
future.  That  idea  is  pretty  well  exploded  now,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Yes;  it's  wonderful  what  Hallett  has  done  for  the 
place,  I  admit." 

As  Donovan  rode  out  to  Snow  Shoe  he  thought  over 
his  friend  Hallett's  situation.  The  judge's  criticism  of 
Hecla  was  only  the  echo  of  much  general  comment, 
mostly  of  an  ill-natured  character.  The  Sandwiths  were 
not  popular  at  Dunkirk.  Their  Quaker  pride  and  ex- 
clusiveness,  their  wealth  and  what  was  considered  their 
parade  of  honesty  in  business  and  other  relations  of 
life,  had  combined  to  excite  criticism  and  envy  in  many 
persons  like  Mrs.  Tathem  and  her  daughter  Pinkie.  It 
was  on  their  doorstep  that  the  thistle  of  gossip  had 
sprouted  and  scattered  its  winged  seeds  on  the  ever- 
ready  breezes  of  Dunkirk.  It  was  perhaps  natural  that 
the  unusual  arrangement  of  Hecla's  continuing  to  live 


338  HECLA   SANDWITH 

at  Burnham  while  her  husband  dwelt  at  Snow  Shoe 
should  have  caused  town-talk.  And  Miss  Pinkie  Tathem, 
who  had  ever  been  jealous  of  Hecla's  looks  and  lux 
uries,  and  could  not  forgive  her  her  disdain  of  sociables 
and  picnics  in  which  she  herself  delighted  as  a  true 
Dunkirkian,  lost  no  occasion  for  insinuating  the  least 
favorable  motives  for  Hecla's  conduct. 

tr.  Donovan  gave  small  heed  to  the  gossip,  but  he 
had  of  late  grown  anxious  about  Hallett's  health,  and 
he  found  it  difficult  to  look  leniently  on  the  fact  that 
Hecla  allowed  her  hard-worked  husband  to  lead  his 
lonely  life  out  at  Snow  Shoe,  while  she  continued  to 
dwell  at  ease  in  her  own  home.  True,  there  were  good 
reasons  up  to  the  present  time  for  this  arrangement. 
The  isolation  of  Snow  Shoe,  the  roughness  of  life  in 
what  had  been  in  the  beginning  a  mere  handful  of 
houses,  explained  Hallett's  reluctance  to  take  his  wife 
there.  But  now  the  new  hotel  had  opened  and  the  town 
that  clustered  around  it  had  grown  surprisingly.  In 
deed,  everything  promised  that  the  region  would  shortly 
become  an  important  center,  destined,  perhaps,  to  out 
rival  Dunkirk  in  its  business  interests.  So  Donovan 
felt  that  Hallett  was  carrying  his  consideration  for  his 
wife  too  far.  In  addition  Donovan,  as  a  clergyman,  too 
reverently  prized  the  sacred  duties  of  wedlock  not  to  be 
a  little  scandalized  at  Hallett's  mode  of  living.  Perhaps 
also  Donovan's  own  disappointment  in  losing  Harmony 
made  him  unconsciously  somewhat  bitter  at  seeing  this 
married  couple  so  far  from  realizing  what  would  have 
been  his  own  idea  of  the  married  relation. 

That  evening  Donovan  went,  as  was  his  habit  when 
at  Snow  Shoe,  to  the  Englishman's  rooms.    The  two 


THE    NECESSITY    OF    LOVING          339 

men  had  become  very  good  friends,  each  appreciating 
the  other's  qualities  and  character.  Hallett  valued  the 
excellent  influence  Donovan  had  gained  among  his 
miners,  and  did  all  in  his  power  to  further  the  young 
rector's  work.  After  services  and  the  short  practical 
homilies  Donovan  made  to  the  men,  he  and  Hallett 
would  sometimes  sit  for  hours  smoking  and  talking. 
On  this  particular  evening  Donovan  was  really  shocked 
by  Hallett's  appearance.  He  not  only  looked  worn  but 
his  manner  denoted  a  feverish  condition.  Truly,  the 
year  had  left  its  marks  on  Hallett's  face,  he  thought  to 
himself.  The  coal-mining  company  was  now  on  the 
road  to  success,  but  it  was  success  bought  at  the  price 
of  the  overseer's  health.  Yet,  was  it  alone  the  mine 
that  had  wrought  this  extraordinary  change  ? 

When  the  two  friends  were  seated  around  the  mellow 
glow  of  the  lamp  in  Hallett's  rooms,  the  Englishman, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  and  with  an  air  of  satisfac 
tion,  said  to  his  guest :  "I  am  glad  you  stopped  in  to 
night,  Donovan !  Now  and  then  the  evenings  seem  a 
bit  long  out  here  and  somehow  I've  not  been  feeling 
up  to  the  mark  lately.  I  must  go  to  Philadelphia  in  a 
week  or  two  to  meet  some  Welsh  emigrants:  we  have 
engaged.  Probably  the  trip  will  do  me  good." 

"You  don't  look  fit  for  the  journey,  Hallett/'  the 
rector  remonstrated  warmly.  "You  should  consider 
3^ourself  more.  Even  strong  men  like  you  can  overdo." 

"There  is  nothing  seriously  wrong  with  me,"  was  the 
reply.  "I  need  a  little  rest,  perhaps.  But  this  would 
be  a  bad  time  to  take  it.  I  hope,  however,  soon  to  have 
the  mining  company  on  such  a  basis  I  need  feel  no 
more  anxiety.  But  my  work  is  a  threadbare  topic, 


340  HECLA   SANDWITH 

Donovan.  Let  us  talk  of  other  things.  I  have  been. 
reading  an  interesting  book."  And  Hallett  picked  up  a 
volume  dealing  with  the  phenomena  of  religious  life 
of  early  Pennsylvania:  the  rise  of  the  German  Seventh 
Day  Baptists  and  the  establishment  of  the  monastic 
community  at  Ephrata  in  Lancaster  County.  They  dis 
cussed  the  poetic  customs,  the  midnight  services,  the 
lofty  music  and  exaggerated  mystic  piety  of  the  clois 
tered  devotees  of  the  latter  institution.  The  rector  con 
sidered  that  the  ideals  of  the  monastery  were  too  closely 
akin  to  the  Church  of  Eome,  and  Bichard  Hallett  dwelt 
on  the  mistaken  religious  fervor  which  precluded  mar 
riage  from  the  scheme  of  earthly  existence. 

"Why  don't  you  marry,  Donovan?"  he  said  abruptly 
as  they  finished  talking. 

The  ample  tone  had  a  shade  of  pity  in  it  as  though! 
Eichard  Hallett  looked  down  on  his  bachelor  friend  from 
his  heights  of  assured  happiness.  It  was  like  salt  to  the 
rector's  slowly  healing  wound,  and  he  flushed  sensitively. 

"Marriage,  Hallett,"  he  said  slowly,  seizing  the  op 
portunity  the  other  had  given  him  to  approach  this 
subject,  "sometimes  leaves  much  to  be  desired.  For 
instance,  I  should  not  be  content  to  accept  matrimony 
on  your  conditions.  It  seems  to  me  that  in  spite  of  be 
ing  a  married  man  you  pretty  well  realize  the  mon- 
astical  idea  you  have  been  condemning." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Mean  ?  Why,  what  is  marriage  when  one  lives  sepa 
rated  from  one's  wife  like  you?  You  pity  my  single 
ness.  I  pity  your  married  life,  for  is  it  not  the  more 
solitary  state?  When  do  you  expect  to  move  into  the 
new  hotel  ?"  he  ended. 


THE   NECESSITY   OF   LOVING         341 

r,  shortly  now.  You  know  it  has  only  been  com 
pleted  a  few  weeks  and  I  am  waiting  for  my  wife  to  go 
there.  Complications  in  her  household  have  delayed  her 
coming.  Her  little  brother  Jervis  has  been  ailing  and 
Hetty  Wain  has  quarreled  with  her  uncle  Gideon  Sand- 
with  over  her  fortune  and  sought  an  asylum  at  Burn- 
ham,  as  perhaps  you  have  heard.  But  I  hope  that  it 
will  not  be  long  now  till  my  wife  is  able  to  make  the 
move."  His  voice  was  quiet  and  a  smile  lightened  Eich- 
ard  Hallett's  face,  as  it  did  always  when  he  mentioned 
his  wife. 

Donovan  looked  at  him  affectionately.  He  was  moved 
by  his  friend's  patience  and  fortitude. 

"Hallctt,"  he  remonstrated,  "you  ought  to  think  more 
of  your  own  happiness.  Don't  you  know  how  much 
better  it  is  to  be  firm  with  women  ?" 

"Be  firm  with  women?  Pray,  explain  yourself!" 
Eichard  Hallett's  voice  showed  offense. 

"I  mean,  Hallett,  that  you  ought  to  assert  yourself. 
You  are  not  well;  this  hard  work  and  lonely  life  are 
telling  on  you.  Woman's  company  and  care  are  what 
you  need.  Mrs.  Hallett's  place  is  out  here  with  you !" 

"Why,  Donovan,  you  forget  yourself!"  Hallett  said 
in  astonishment  at  the  other's  liberty.  Anger  reddened 
his  face  as  he  spoke. 

Donovan  answered  impetuously :  "I  express  only  the 
common  opinion  of  the  town.  To  be  frank  with  you,  the 
general  belief  is  that  your  wife  has  no  intention  of  leav 
ing  Burnham."  >» 

"You  dare  to  tell  me  this — to  retail  gossip  unworthy 
a  gentleman's  ears  ?" 

"I  speak  as  a  friend!" 


342  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

"There  is  a  limit  to  what  friendship  permits.  You 
have  transgressed  that  limit,  sir.  You  insult  me  in  in 
sulting  my  wife.  Why," — and  Kichard  Hallett  could 
scarce  contain  himself — "if  you  were  not  my  guest  and 
a  minister  of  the  gospel  you  should  answer  for  your 
impertinence !" 

The  rector's  face  showed  the  pain  of  misunderstood 
friendship. 

"As  for  being  your  guest/'  he  said  hotly,  "that  can 
easily  be  remedied.  You  insult  me  as  much  as  you 
fancy  I  have  insulted  you  by  misconstruing  my  sym 
pathy." 

"What  need  have  I  of  your  sympathy  or  of  anybody's 
sympathy!  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  my  wife.  I 
would  have  you  know  I  revere  her  as  a  woman  above 
my  deserts,  and  the  scandal-mongers  who  bandy  her 
name  on  Dunkirk  doorsteps." 

Richard  Hallett  sat  alone  in  his  rooms  until  the  mid 
night  hour  struck.  His  mind  was  absorbed  by  anger  and 
worship  of  his  wife.  He  had  been  wounded  in  the  most 
sacred  side  of  his  nature,  and  by  one  for  whom  he  had 
a  deep  attachment.  Hecla  had  been  traduced,  mis 
represented  before  the  world,  her  love  for  him  ques 
tioned,  denied.  His  one  thought  was  to  redeem  this 
slight  cast  upon  her  by  a  new  and  larger  devotion.  At 
the  intoning  of  the  clock  he  stretched  himself  on  his 
bed.  Never  had  he  felt  for  Hecla  a  greater  access  of 
passion.  The  desire  to  hold  her  in  his  arms,  to  tell  her 
all  that  dwelt  unspoken  in  his  heart,  grew  with  the 
passing  hours.  He  trusted  her  so  completely  that  never 
in  the  one  year  of  their  married  life  had  a  shadow  of 


THE   NECESSITY   OF   LOVING         343 

doubt  fallen  across  his  soul.  Freshly  now  he  prized  all 
she  had  been  to  him. 

Yet  as  he  lay  on  his  bed  the  isolation  of  his  life  thus 
tactlessly  alluded  to  by  Donovan  began  gradually  to 
pierce  through  these  tender  passionate  thoughts  of  his 
wife.  He  felt  as  never  before  how  unsatisfactory  his 
married  life  was,  how  deeply  all  that  had  been  denied 
him  had  worn  upon  him  as  a  man.  This  marital  sacrifice, 
rather  than  his  anxious  and  exacting  work,  had  been 
the  cause  of  his  loss  of  health.  Often,  he  admitted  to 
himself,  would  the  bitterness  of  his  lonely  days  have 
oppressed  him  had  not  unremitting  labor  been  his  solace 
and  opiate. 

The  darkness  weighed  upon  him  and  the  nervous 
strain  of  his  emotions  filled  his  eyes  with  little  sparkles 
and  glimmers.  At  length  he  got  up  and  sat  down  by 
the  window,  letting  the  sharp  night  air  blow  on  his  face 
and  open  chest. 

It  was  November  and  no  moon  was  in  the  night ;  the 
outside  world  had  a  vast  and  solemn  stillness.  He  felt 
nature  around  him.  It  seemed  to  push  a  grave  inquir 
ing  face  into  his  room  as  it  wrapped  swarthy  arms 
around  the  inn.  The  tavern  stood  solitary  in  the  midst 
of  spreading  solitude.  The  absolute  possession  of  the 
night  there  among  the  mountain  wilds  impressed  him  as 
never  before.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  long  lapse  of 
the  blank  hours  imposed  on  mankind  the  sad  necessity 
to  think,  to  solve  torturing  soul-problems.  He  gazed 
out  on  the  void  of  darkness  doming  the  world,  darkness 
unillumined  save  by  dim  stars,  remote,  hinting  of  un- 
discoverable  regions  of  the  spirit.  His  mind  swept  on 
in  vague  inquiry.  "What  did  life  mean  ? 


HECLA    S'AXDWITH 

He  thought  of  Byron's  poem  on  Darkness  and  he 
pondered  the  sentiments  of  the  last  man  alive  lingering 
on  through  the  interminable  wane  of  sunless  hours.  He 
felt  the  ache,  the  pathos  of  human  brevity,  the  tragedy 
of  our  little  hurryings  here  and  there,  our  hopes,  our 
dreams,  our  despairs,  our  anguish  alternating  with  mo 
ments  of  joy  that  leap  up  like  flame  from  dry  heaps  of 
leaves.  He  remembered  death,  its  prudence  and  re 
serve,  and  how  soon  or  late  the  futile  ashes  of  our  be 
ing  are  blown  across  the  world.  And  all  that  had 
seemed  worthy:  his  manhood's  strength,  his  aims  that 
had  soared  so  high  on  consecrated  wings,  his  confidence 
that  had  given  him  power,  suddenly  faded  and  crum 
bled  into  nothingness.  How  little  we  accomplished  and 
what  indeed  our  hand  wrought,  time  blotted  out,  even 
as  the  wave  on  the  shore  sweeps  away  idle  sand-fortresses 
children  rear ! 

He  was  lonely ;  but  how  lone  was  all  humanity !  Soul 
spoke  to  soul  in  a  faint  and  scarce  intelligible  tongue. 
If  there  was  relief  for  this  pall  of  separate  human  life 
it  was  the  love  of  husband  and  wife — that  nearest,  dear 
est,  most  sacred  tie  uniting  heart  with  heart  to  banish 
the  mind's  melancholy.  And  as  he  meditated  on  this, 
the  image  of  Hecla  rose  before  his  eyes,  pale,  removed, 
inexplicable,  unresponsive. 

On  her  and  her  alone  his  hopes  were  fixed.  And  how 
much  did  she  understand  ?  The  accusations  uttered  that 
night  had  sunk  unwittingly  into  his  soul  like  bits  of 
lead.  His  ideals  had  been  shocked  by  a  friend's  words; 
a  rude  hand  had  touched  things  hitherto  sacred  from 
analysis.  Now  a  process  of  inquiry  began  within  him. 
He  sifted  the  past ;  he  examined  it  minutely ;  he  looked 


THE    NECESSITY    OF   LOVIXG         345 

on  all  with  judicial  eyes.  He  had  believed  in  her  so 
steadfastly,  he  had  accepted  in  the  spirit  of  heroic 
self-denial  the  restriction  she  placed  on  his  passionate 
love,  pitying  the  uncontrolled  fears  that  had  caused  her 
to  act  as  she  had  done  on  their  marriage  night.  He 
had  accepted  this  half -marriage,  this  union  of  the  spirit 
and  not  of  the  body,  patiently,  nay  heroically.  He 
never  quite  gaged  the  morbidity  and  warp  of  nature 
that  inspired  Hecla's  dread  and  physical  distaste  of 
him,  but  he  loved  her — and  love  evoked  in  him  gentle 
ness,  delicacy,  consideration,  such  sacrifice  as  few  men 
would  make.  But  the  acceptance  of  the  conditions  of 
marriage  which  these  feelings  demanded  of  him  had 
preyed  upon  his  health  and  happiness.  He  had  sac 
rificed  himself  because  he  was  grateful  to  her  for  having 
wedded  him.  "Was  she  deserving  his  sacrifices  and  his 
worship?  With  the  search-light  of  outside  opinion  he 
scrutinized  the  history  of  their  life  together.  Little 
things  that  had  meant  nothing  to  him  in  his  hot  human 
affection  for  her  commenced  to  gather  significance.  She 
had  never  promised  to  love  him.  Was  he,  after  all, 
blindly  adoring  a  hollow  shell?  Had  he  dwelt  weakly 
in  an  iris-colored  mist  of  self-deception  ? 

He  went  on  thinking  till  a  great  chill  crept  like  white 
winter  across  his  mind.  But  he  resisted  it.  What  would 
life  be  if  she  failed  him?  What  would  be  left  him  if 
this  dream  darkened  and  died  out  like  a  spent  flame? 
The  fever  of  passion  once  more  mounted  in  him.  His 
wife  cared  for  him!  He  would  seek  her  and  prove  to 
the  world  what  a  wrong  it  did  her.  He  would  make  his 
appeal.  She  would  come  at  once,  unhesitatingly.  They 
would  be  happy  together  as  they  had  never  been  before. 


IIECLA    SAXDWITH 

Married  life  would  thenceforth  realize  his  high  hopes. 
He  had  labored  for  success  and  it  was  in  his  grasp.  But 
success,  what  would  it  be  without  Hecla's  love? 


CHAPTEE  XI 

SUNDERED  SPIRITS 

She  was  descending  the  stairs  when  the  next  night 
he  entered  the  hall  at  Burnham. 

"Is  that  you,  Richard?"  she  asked  from  the  dusk  of 
the  landing  as  he  stood,  a  sober  figure  in  his  brown 
traveling  cloak,  where  the  light  of  the  nimbused  candles 
shone  on  his  face.  With  her  usual  slow  graceful  move 
ments  Hecla  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  pre 
sented  her  cheek.  He  thought  he  noted  in  her  voice — 
the  pure  modulations  of  which  had  so  pleased  him  the 
first  time  he  sa^7  her — more  surprise  than  pleasure  at 
his  unexpected  coming. 

"Is  that  all  the  greeting  you  have  for  me  ?"  he  asked. 

She  looked  at  him  with  some  surprise:  he  was  not 
used  to  be  dissatisfied  with  the  marks  of  affection  she 
accorded  him.  Without  waiting  for  her  answer  he  drew 
her  to  him  with  almost  fierce  possession. 

"Don't,"  Hecla  said,  thinking  of  her  dress. 

He  released  her  quickly  and  his  eyes  took  in  the  de 
tails  of  her  attire:  the  pale  silk  gown  with  its  purple 
flounce;  the  rich  hair  in  a  golden  net  and  ornamented 
with  a  camellia  of  white  feathers.  Over  one  arm  a  wrap 
hung.  Richard  had  noticed  the  carriage  at  the  door. 

"I  was  going  out,"  she  explained.  "Jane  Hamilton 
has  asked  me  to  a  little  evening  party." 

347 


3^8  HECLA    SAKDWITH 

"I  did  not  know  you  were  so  fond  of  pleasure." 

"Richard,  isn't  that  a  little  unjust  of  you?  I  care 
nothing  for  our  town  amusements  and  go  nowhere.  To 
night  Jane  urged  me  to  come  and  I  promised.  But  I 
am  glad  of  an  excuse  to  give  up  going.  Have  you  had 
supper,  Richard  ?  Let  me  get  you  some." 

"I  do  not  wish  supper/'  he  answered. 

There  was  something  new  in  his  tone  and  she  looked 
at  him  with  sudden  interest. 

"You  are  not  well/'  she  said.  "I  know  you  are  work 
ing  too  hard  and  need  a  rest.  Richard,  you  owe  some 
thing  to  your  health  as  well  as  to  your  business.  You 
are  on  your  way  to  Philadelphia  now,  I  suppose.  \Vhy 
must  you  take  such  a  troublesome  trip  to  meet  those 
miners  ?  It  seems  an  unreasonable  tax  on  your  strength 
and  time." 

"Because  they  speak  Welsh  only  and  will  be  bewil 
dered,  naturally,  arriving  in  a  strange  country.  Besides, 
I  wish  to  meet  them.  There  is  no  reason  I  should  not  do 
so — I  am  not  ill." 

"If  you  are  not  ill,  Richard,  then  something  is  troub 
ling  you,"  she  said  concernedly.  "Your  face  shows  it. 
You  never  tell  about  your  affairs  and  so  I  can  only 
guess  what  is  wrong.  I  sometimes  wonder  why  you  with 
hold  your  confidence  from  me.  Is  it  because  I  am  only  a 
woman  ?" 

She  moved  on  into  the  parlors  throwing  her  wrap 
upon  the  sofa.  As  she  passed  the  mirror  she  gave  an  ab 
stracted  glance  at  her  reflection.  He  noted  this  and 
thought  how  careful  she  was  of  her  beauty  for  others. 

"You  take  my  visits  always  so  calmly,"  he  said  in  a 
voice  that  vented  the  difficult  feelings  within  him. 


SUNDERED    SPIRITS  349 

"Don't  you  miss  me  enough  to  make  my  coming  a  mat 
ter  of  some  importance  to  you  ?" 

Slie  turned  her  deep  eyes  on  him  at  this,  more  acutely 
noting  the  newness  of  his  tone — a  tone  which  asserted 
something  that  hitherto  had  never  entered  into  their 
relations. 

"Why,  naturally  I  miss  you,"  she  answered  in  some 
offense.  "Did  my  welcome  seem  cold?  I  am  sorry, 
Richard !" 

He  did  not  answer.  He  was  gazing  across  the  tables 
where  the  candles  stood  flickering  in  the  draught  that 
came  from  an  open  window,  for  the  night  was  mild. 
The  memory  came  back  to  him  of  the  first  time  he  had 
seen  her  two  years  before,  standing  on  the  lighted 
threshold  of  Christy  Pickle's  cottage  with  the  exotic 
odor  of  the  night-blooming  ccreus  enveloping  her  in  an 
atmosphere  passionate  as  his  dreams  had  been  that 
night.  Was  the  conception  he  had  formed  of  her  then 
false,  as  a  lover's  fancies  are  apt  to  be?  How  beautiful 
she  was  with  the  refinement  of  perfect  features,  yet  how 
unmoved,  as  it  seemed  to  him  to-night,  by  tenderness! 
The  becoming  toilet,  with  its  unusual  touches,  made 
him  feel  a  certain  remoteness  from  her.  The  formal 
dressing  spoke  to  him  like  a  formal  demeanor  on  her 
part. 

"Why  do  you  look  so  grave?"  she  asked  presently  as 
he  sat  in  moody  silence. 

"Am  I  not  to  be  grave?"  he  answered.  "Life  has 
sobered  me.  I  feel  old,  yet  not  old  enough  willingly  to 
resign  the  dreams  of  youth."  He  stopped  abruptly, 
stifling  what  seemed  like  the  expression  of  regrets. 
"I  am  a  little  tired  to-night.  There  has  been  a  good 


350  HECLA   SAXDWITH 

deal  of  trouble  at  the  mines.  Labor  has  been  unsatis 
factory,  but  the  Welsh  workers  I  sent  for  are  good,  re 
liable  men,  and  in  a  few  weeks  things  will  be  running 
smoothly,  I  hope.  Then  I  shall  have  more  time  for 
rest."  He  added  after  a  pause:  "I  was  thinking  you 
might  be  ready  to  move  when  I  come  back  from  the 
city." 

"Kichard,"  she  said  appealingly,  disregarding  his 
last  words,  "why  do  you  not  give  up  the  mine?  The 
work  is  wearing  you  out  and  there  is  such  little  reward 
for  all  your  sacrifice.  Why  will  you  not  enter  into  part 
nership  with  Dave  and  live  here  at  Burnham,  where  you 
would  have  the  comforts  and  surroundings  of  a  gentle 
man?" 

"I  have  asked  you  not  to  speak  of  that  again,  Hecla," 
he  said  sternly.  "You  know  my  feelings.  Nothing  will 
ever  induce  me  to  give  up  the  mine.  I  have  pledged 
myself  to  Mr.  Markham  to  make  a  success  of  our  under 
taking,  and  I  shall  do  so  or  fail  in  the  attempt.  But 
you  have  not  answered  my  question.  You  can  make  the 
change  in  a  week  or  so  ?" 

She  could  not  speak  for  a  moment.  Her  throat  felt 
suddenly  dry.  Her  eyes  half-closed  and  her  upper  lip, 
lifting  a  little  at  one  corner,  brought  a  curve  into  the 
cheek.  It  was  a  wistful  expression  mixed  with  wonder 
at  the  pain  and  difficulty  of  things,  at  the  sacrifices 
life  demanded.  He  was  asking  her  to  abandon  her  home 
with  its  dignity,  luxury  and  recollections,  to  leave  her 
accustomed  surroundings  and  take  up  her  abode  in  a 
rude  mining  settlement.  As  his  wife  she  must  do  as 
he  exacted;  yet  her  heart  welled  with  bitterness.  Why 
should  her  hopes  and  plans  perish  through  his  passion 


SUNDERED    SPIRITS  351 

for  success,  because  of  his  pride  and  belief  in  Snow 
Shoe  ?  He  wished  her  to  abandon  her  father's  home,  yet 
he  was  unwilling  to  relinquish  his  mine,  although  in  do 
ing  so  he  could  help  her  brother  and  perhaps  rescue 
the  Works  from  ruin  ?  She  had  gone  on  clinging  to  the 
belief  that  he  would  finally  accede  to  her  plea.  Her 
father's  letter  had  been  to  her  almost  like  a  pledge  that 
if  she  married  him  he  would  come  to  the  assistance  of 
her  family.  Had  she  sacrificed  herself  in  vain  ? 

He  noticed  the  silent  debating  of  her  lips  and  he  said 
in  a  gentler  tone:  "I  know,  my  dear,  it  is  a  trial  to 
go  away  from  such  a  beautiful  home  as  yours.  I  try  to 
remember  all  you  are  giving  up  for  me." 

"It  is  a  break,  Richard,"  she  said,  her  voice  vibrating 
with  feeling.  "I  love  my  old  home.  I  wonder  if  men 
ever  realize  all  home  means  to  a  woman,  how  her 
heart  is  bound  up  with  it  even  when  those  who  have 
made  it  sacred  are  gone." 

"Yes,  I  think  I  understand,"  he  said  still  more  ten 
derly,  covering  with  his  her  delicate  white  hand  as  it 
rested  on  the  table. 

"How  feverish  your  touch  is,  Richard!  I  am  sure 
you  can't  be  well." 

"It  is  the  fever  of  life,  that  is  all,"  he  answered  as  his 
gaze  continued  to  dwell  on  her  troubled  face.  "Life 
burns  in  me  sometimes  with  a  great  longing.  I  wish, 
Hecla,  you  could  call  home  where  your  husband  is. 
Somehow  it  hurts  me  that  ycur  eyes  turn  back  always 
to  the  past  and  never  to  the  future.  Ought  it  to  be  so 
hard  for  a  wife  to  sacrifice  her  fireside  to  live  with  her 
husband  ?" 

She  withdrew  her  hand  at  this  and  he  went  on; 


352  HECLA   SANDWITH 

"Hecla,  I  do  not  blame  you  impatiently  or  with  a  boy's 
intolerance;  but  I  think  I  expected  too  much  of  you. 
I  thought  you  loved  me  enough  to  regard  your  duties 
toward  me  not  as  hardships  but  as  pleasures.  Ah,  Hecla, 
if  you  cared  for  me  as  I  care  for  you  leaving  your  home 
would  be  easy/' 

Her  delicate  nostrils  dilated  a  little  and  there  was  a 
certain  thrill  of  outrage  in  the  tone  with  which  she  an 
swered  him. 

"I  do  not  like  you  to  speak  in  that  way,  Richard. 
You  appear  to  think  that  I  am  considering  only  my 
own  selfish  comfort.  It  is  not  because  of  myself  that  it 
has  been  hard  for  me  to  give  up  Burnham.  It  is  my 
little  brother's  home  as  well  as  mine,  the  fireside  which 
those  dear  to  me  have  found  waiting  and  ready  for  them 
always.  Have  you  forgotten  that  I  have  family  ties,  obli 
gations  to  my  own  blood,  that  my  father's  death  placed 
me  in  a  position  of  responsibility?  You  say  I  should 
find  it  easy  to  give  up  my  home.  You  tell  me  that  you 
love  me,  yet  you  refuse  to  give  up  your  mine !  And  I 
have  asked  you  to  do  so  to  save  my  father's  furnace — 
the  furnace  which  is  the  monument  to  his  memory  and 
a  sacred  trust  to  me.  I  expected  when  I  married  you 
that  you  would  help  David  manage,  that  you  would  join 
with  me  in  preserving  the  interests  of  those  I  love." 
She  turned  away  her  head,  biting  her  lips  to  repress  the 
bitter  emotions  that  mounted  in  her  as  she  spoke. 

"So  you  married  me,"  he  said  slowly,  "not  because 
you  loved  me,  but  to  save  your  own  fortune  ?  Hecla,  had 
you  no  heart  ?" 

"When  did  I  ever  promise  to  love  you?"  she  cried. 
"Did  you  ask  it  of  me?  Richard,  Richard,  how  unjust 


SUNDERED    SPIRITS  353 

to  accuse  me  of  deceiving  you !  I  confess  it  has  been 
hard  for  me  to  think  of  leaving  my  home,  because  so 
much  has  held  me  here;  so  many  troubles  and  trials 
have  demanded  that  I  should  be  near  my  own  kin.  Do 
you  remember  this  when  you  reproach  me  for  lack  of 
duty  toward  you  ?  Were  my  obligations  to  my  own  fam 
ily  to  be  forgotten  because  I  married  you  ?" 

"So  you  have  never  loved  me !"  he  repeated.  His  face 
had  grown  haggard.  It  was  an  unbelievably  different 
face  from  that,  ruddy-hued  with  health,  of  a  year  ago. 
He  rose,  buttoning  his  coat,  half  with  the  idea  of  de 
parting  and  half-instinctively,  like  a  man  seeking  to 
keep  back  words  not  to  be  uttered.  "I  have  been  blind — 
blind,  indeed,  not  to  see  it.  What  else  could  I  have  ex 
pected  of  a  woman  who  fled  in  fear  of  her  husband  on 
her  wedding  night  ?  Hecla,  you  have  never  loved  me." 

"And  if  I've  not  loved  you/'  she  cried  in  anguish, 
"is  it  my  fault?  Can  love  be  compelled?  Ah,  why  did 
you  insist  on  marrying  me,  why  did  you  swear  that  my 
not  loving  you  made  no  difference  ?" 

He  stood  gazing  at  her  in  silence.  When  he  next  spoke 
it  was  in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  rise  from  the  ruined 
places  of  his  spirit. 

"When  I  married  you  I  expected  to  win  your  love.  I 
failed.  I  know  now  that  it  was  because  you  love  your 
cousin." 

"It  is  not  true!  I  may  have  loved  him  once,  but  I 
conquered  my  love.  I  gave  him  up  for  the  sake  of  duty. 
Ah,  it  is  cruel  of  you  to  say  that,  Richard !" 

"You  love  him  yet,"  he  answered.  "It  is  strange  that 
I  did  not  see  it  before  I  married  you.  But  why  talk  of 
that  now,  when  it  is  too  late?  I  have  spoken  of  your 


354  HECLA   SANDWITH 

coming  to  Snow  Shoe  not  only  for  my  own  sake,  but 
for  yours.  People  have  been  commenting  on  your  delay. 
I  wished  to  spare  you  public  criticism." 

"Who  has  criticized  me  ?"  Her  voice  took  the  note  of 
startled  pride. 

"Donovan  spoke  of  it  as  common  gossip  in  Dunkirk. 
I  was  angry  that  he  should  have  repeated  this  to  me; 
but  I  believe  he  was  impelled  by  the  false  idea  I  needed 
counsel.  We  parted  in  heat  after  words  were  spoken.  I 
resented  the  liberty  he  took,  but  I  can  not  help  respect 
ing  his  good  intentions,  now  my  anger  has  had  time  to 
cool." 

"Mr.  Donovan!"  she  exclaimed.  The  pupils  of  her 
blue-gray  eyes  suddenly  devoured  the  iris ;  her  face  was 
transformed  by  one  of  those  accesses  of  anger  which  she 
inherited  from  her  father.  "Richard,  I  could  have 
borne  your  insults  and  misunderstanding  of  me,  but  that 
Mr.  Donovan,  of  all  men,  should  be  filling  the  role  of 
sympathizer!  Mr.  Donovan,  who  insulted  my  father 
and  whom  you  nevertheless  claim  as  friend !"  Her  voice 
shook.  "To  listen  to  him  and  then  come  and  reproach 
me!" 

She  had  arisen  from  her  seat  also  and  stood  pas 
sionately  confronting  him.  "How  false  and  disloyal  to 
me !"  she  continued.  "And  you  dare  call  Mr.  Donovan 
a  friend  in  my  presence!  You  may  choose  between 
such  a  friend  and  me !" 

The  rising  breeze,  as  it  played  through  the  room, 
fanned  the  flames  of  the  candles  standing  upon  the 
table  between  them.  Then  with  a  slight  sputtering 
sound,  first  one  and  then  the  other  taper  was  extin 
guished.  Neither  made  a  move  to  light  them. 


SUNDERED    SPIRITS  355 

"Thai;  is  a  matter  in  which  I  permit  no  dictation/' 
he  answered.  "I  do  not  give  up  my  friends  at  any  one's 
bidding,  even  my  wife's." 

"Then  I  give  you  up !" 

The  words  slipped  involuntarily  from  her,  and  they 
seemed  to  fall  with  a  significance  that  startled  her  like 
another's  voice.  It  was  as  if  nature  had  intervened  to 
set  upon  them  the  seal  of  an  inevitability.  The  parlors, 
at  the  blowing  out  of  the  tapers,  had  become  part  of  the 
sad  gray  twilight  falling  on  the  outside  world;  ghostly 
shadows  of  the  November  eve  filled  them.  A  few  dying 
brands  on  the  hearth  glowed  redly,  scarring  the  gloom, 
and  the  white  curtains,  bellied  by  the  draught,  waved 
like  the  arms  of  an  entering  phantom.  They  barely  saw 
each  other  as  they  stood  mute,  too  strained  to  speak,  too 
full  of  their  wrongs  to  speak.  After  a  moment  Richard 
Hallett  turned  away  and  the  front  door  closed  behind 
him. 

Hecla  waited,  hearing  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  on 
the  walk,  wondering  if  he  would  return,  yet  too  angry 
to  protest.  Surely  he  would  come  back,  drawn  by  love, 
to  make  his  peace  with  her.  But  the  sound  of  his 
footsteps  grew  faint  and  a  sudden  fear  of  her  husband's 
character  smiting  her,  she  followed  him  to  the  door. 

"Richard !"  she  cried. 

There  was  no  answer.  Did  he  hear  her?  On  her  ear 
fell  only  the  melancholy  chime  of  late  crickets  singing 
out  the  dead  summer  in  their  hearts — all  the  honey  of 
remembrance  thrilling  in  their  tones  as  they  pierced  the 
autumnal  eve.  Half  of  a  red  gibbous  moon  glowed  be 
hind  the  black  hills,  and  the  bare  branches  of  the  grove 
tossed  their  traceries  upon  the  sky,  and  the  dead  leaves 


356  HECLA   SANDW1TS 

on  the  garden  path  shivered  as  if  there  swept  by  an  un 
seen  presence.  Terror  took  her  and  she  went  on,  her 
wonder  deepening. 

Was  he  leaving  her  for  ever?  Now  her  foot  struck 
against  the  soft  body  of  a  toad,  and  with  a  sudden  shiv 
ering  dread  of  the  filmy  cricket-haunted  twilight  she 
fled  back  to  the  house. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE    CONSCIENCE   PRICK   AND   MEMORY   SMART 

Hetty's  quarrel  with  her  Uncle  Gideon  was  the  latest 
sensation  of  Dunkirk.  On  arriving  of  age  Hetty  had  de 
manded  her  fortune  from  her  uncle,  who,  already  at 
odds  with  his  niece  over  her  defiance  of  his  authority 
and  teachings,  had  contended  she  was  not  fit  to  manage 
her  money;  and  she  had  been  forced  to  retain  Went- 
worth  Oliver  as  lawyer  to  fight  for  her  rights.  On  ex 
changing  her  uncle's  house  for  Burnham  she  had  torn 
off  her  hated  drab  gown,  stamped  on  her  Quaker  bonnet 
and  demanded  that  Hecla  give  her  her  gayest  dress  to 
wear  until  she  could  order  from  her  mantua-maker 
a  bright  Ted  one  in  which  to  confront  her  erst-while 
guardian,  should  he  pursue  her  to  her  asylum.  Know 
ing  he  had  no  case  against  his  niece,  the  old  Quaker 
had  come  to  Burnham  to  persuade  her  to  return  to  his 
home,  and  on  seeing  her  thus  arrayed  in  worldly 
finery,  he  had  given  one  scandalized  glance,  compared 
her  with  the  Scarlet  "Woman  and  told  her  she  was  for 
ever  disowned. 

To  spite  her  uncle  further  Hetty  had  consented  to 
marry  her  old  suitor,  Blair  Nandine,  whom  she  knew 
Gideon  Sandwith  detested.  This  promise  had  been 
given  on  condition  that  the  happy  lover  should  re- 

357 


358  HECLA    SANDWITH 

nounce  "colored  waistcoats,  verse-writing  and  his  com 
mon  relatives."  Wentworth  Oliver  had  never  had  a  case 
that  cost  him  so  much  time  and  trouble  as  Hetty's  suit 
against  her  guardian.  Hours  were  consumed  in  hear 
ing  the  detailed  history  of  his  client's  wrongs,  and  that 
determined  }'oung  woman  demanded  that  her  unfortu 
nate  counsel  should  study  more  law  so  as  to  find  new 
ways  with  which  to  plague  her  "canting,  skinflint,  old 
fogy  of  an  uncle,"  as  Hetty  energetically  expressed  it. 

One  morning  Wentworth  was  sitting  in  his  office 
busy  with  his  papers,  when  he  was  interrupted  by 
Hetty  Wain's  excited  entrance. 

"Wentworth,"  she  cried  in  her  shrill  treble,  "has 
thee  heard  the  news?  Richard  Hallett's  been  ill  at 
Snow  Shoe  for  the  last  two  weeks.  Hecla  only  heard 
of  it  this  morning  from  Rhocla  Markham,  who  came 
out  to  call — she's  staying  with  Jane  Hamilton,  thee 
knows.  Thee  may  imagine  Hecla's  surprise,  for  she 
thought  Richard  had  gone  to  Philadelphia,  as  he  in 
tended,  but  it  seems  Mr.  Donovan  persuaded  him  he 
wasn't  well  enough  for  the  journey.  It  was  fortunate 
he  didn't  go,  for  the  fever  broke  out  as  soon  as  he 
reached  Snow  Shoe.  Mr.  Donovan  has  been  nursing 
him.  Richard  made  him  and  Mr.  Markham  promise 
to  keep  his  illness  a  secret  and  on  no  account  to  let 
Hecla  come  to  him  for  fear  she'd  take  the  fever.  Rhoda 
told  Hecla,  though,  because  neither  she  nor  her  father 
thought  it  fair  not  to.  The  idea  of  Hecla's  not  know 
ing  her  husband  has  been  ill  for  two  weeks!  She's 
very  angry  with  Mr.  Donovan,  and,  Wentworth,  she 
insists  on  going  out  to  Snow  Shoe  to  nurse  Richard 
in  his  stead.  I  want  thee  to  come  to  Burnham  with  me 


CONSCIENCE    AND   MEMORY  359 

and  prevent  her  doing  such'  a  foolish  thing.  She'll  take 
the  fever — it's  something  dreadful,  like  typhus — and 
give  it  to  me  and  everybody  else." 

"I  shall  go  to  her  at  once/'  Wentworth  said ;  and  to 
gether  they  left  the  office. 

"Thee'll  try  to  persuade  Hecla  not  to  be  silly  ?"  Hetty 
begged. 

"Yes,  I'll  offer  to  help  Mr.  Donovan  do  the  nurs 
ing." 

"Thee,  Wentworth?"  Hetty  cried.  "How  can  thee 
talk  so  when  thee  knows  thee  has  to  get  my  money 
away  from  Uncle  Gideon!  There's  Christy  Pickle, 
she's  a  good  nurse,  and  nobody  would  care  whether  she 
caught  the  fever  or  not.  Thee  must  persuade  Hecla  to 
be  sensible.  She's  terribly  put  out  at  Mr.  Donovan's 
tending  Richard.  It  is  very  nice  of  him,  isn't  it?  I 
suppose  he  thought  it  his  Christian  duty.  Well,  it's 
thy  Christian  duty,  Wentworth,  to  see  that  Hecla  lets 
him !" 

When  they  reached  Burnham  they  found  the  carriage 
at  the  door  and  Hecla  ready  to  depart. 

"Don't  try  to  dissuade  me  from  going,  Wentworth," 
she  said.  "It  is  useless.  I  must  go  to  my  husband." 

"But,  Hecla,  I  understand  the  fever  is  typhus.  Be 
sides  the  risk,  the  nursing  will  be  very  difficult.  You 
have  had  no  experience  in  fever  cases,  and  it  will  be 
very  awkward  for  you  out  there  at  the  tavern.  I  am 
perfectly  well  and  I  have  no  fear  of  contagion.  Let  me 
take  your  place !" 

"No  one  can  take  my  place.  Think  of  it,  Wentworth, 
my  husband  ill  for  two  weeks  and  no  one  to  nurse  him 
but  Mr,  Donovan!  You  know  Doctor  Proudfoot  has 


360  HECLA   SAXDWITH 

been  confined  to  his  room  for  a  month  with  gout.  Rich 
ard  begged  Mr.  Donovan  to  keep  me  in  ignorance  of  his 
condition,  but  can  you  understand  any  one  being  so 
cruel  as  to  obey  a  request  like  that !" 

"Why  doesn't  thee  get  Christy  Pickle  to  go,  Hecla?" 
It  was  Hetty  that  pleaded.  "Thee'll  be  sure  to  take  the 
fever  and  die.  Harmony,  she  ought  to  have  more  con 
sideration  for  us,  oughtn't  she  ?" 

"I  think  it  best  for  Hecla  to  go,  Hetty." 

"Thank  you,  Harmony,"  Hecla  said  gratefully. 
"You  are  the  only  counselor  who  has  not  tried  to 
oppose  me  in  doing  my  duty.  Eichard  ought  to  have 
known  me  better  than  to  believe  anything  would  keep 
me  from  his  bedside !" 

"For  Jervis'  sake,  Hecla,"  Wentworth  said. 

She  had  the  child  in  her  arms  and  was  passionately 
kissing  him.  For  a  moment  she  hesitated,  then  she 
answered  quietly:  "Xo,  Wentworth,  even  Jervis  must 
not  hold  me  back." 

"Let  Jervis  go  with  you,  Sister  Hecla,"  Little  Pitcher 
broke  in.  "He  will  read  his  History  of  England  to 
brother  Eichard  and  make  him  well." 

"Xo,  Jervis,  brother  Eichard  is  too  ill  for  that.  You 
must  wait  until  he  grows  better." 

Wentworth  accompanied  his  cousin  on  the  drive  to 
Snow  Shoe.  Little  was  said  on  the  long  journey.  Hecla, 
muffled  in  fur,  her  veil  drawn  over  her  face,  sat  apart 
from  him  gazing  moodily  out  of  the  window.  It  was  a 
bleak  Xovember  day,  cloud-obscured,  and  with  gusts  of 
wind  that  tore  off  the  few  leathery  leaves  still  clinging 
to  the  tree  branches.  Wentworth,  glancing  at  Hecla, 
saw  how  wretched  she  was  and  how  little  fit  to  bear  the 


CONSCIENCE   AND   MEMORY  361 

strain  of  nursing  her  husband ;  but  he  made  no  further 
remonstrance,  knowing  how  useless  it  would  be. 

Hecla  had  not  seen  her  husband  since  she  had  part 
ed  with  him  on  the  gray  cricket-filled  eve  he  had 
come  to  Burnham.  The  news  received  that  morning 
had  been  an  inexpressible  shock,  and  she  was  wounded 
to  the  quick  that  her  husband  should  have  kept  her  in 
ignorance  of  his  illness.  Although  she  still  felt  the  sting 
of  his  injustice  in  reproaching  her  for  marrying  him 
without  love,  she  did  not  hold  herself  blameless  for 
their  estrangement.  She  had  been  so  incensed  at  what 
she  considered  Mr.  Donovan's  unwarrantable  interfer 
ence  that  she  had  been  guilty  of  words  she  had  ever 
since  regretted.  She  had  her  father's  quick  temper,  but, 
unlike  her  father,  she  seldom  lost  her  control  of  it. 
That  Richard  should  have  accepted  literally  her  impul 
sive  repudiation  of  him  for  not  breaking  his  friendship 
with  Mr.  Donovan  seemed  to  her  taking  cruel  advantage 
of  their  quarrel. 

His  unexpected  visit  had  awakened  her  to  a  sense  of 
obligations  in  a  measure  unfulfilled.  She  had  perhaps 
weakly  put  off  making  the  move  to  Snow  Shoe,  and  she 
would  begin  preparations  at  once  to  leave  Burnham. 
As  for  Mr.  Donovan,  she  said  to  herself  she  could 
never  pardon  him  for  the  trouble  he  had  caused  her. 
First,  he  had  insulted  her  father,  then  occasioned  the 
misunderstanding  between  Harmony  and  herself,  and 
finally  he  had  endeavored  to  fill  the  place  she  now  re 
morsefully  realized  she  had  left  vacant  in  her  hus 
band's  isolated  life.  Yet  if  she  had  done  so  it  was  not 
from  selfishness,  but  because  the  claims  of  her  family 
had  been  first  with  her.  All  might  have  been  avoided 


363  HECLA   SANDWITH 

had  Richard  only  been  willing  to  accept  the  manage 
ment  of  the  Works  in  partnership  with  David,  as  she 
had  expected.  Then  he  could  have  lived  at  Burnham, 
and  no  question  of  her  neglect  of  him  need  have  arisen. 
The  salve  to  harassing  thoughts  was  that  now  she  was 
on  her  way  to  her  husband's  sick  bed.  She  would  nurse 
him  devotedly  and  prove  to  Dunkirk  how  wrong  it 
had  been  in  thinking  her  unwilling  to  perform  a  wife's 
part. 

As  the  carriage  neared  Snow  Shoe  objects  grew 
spectral-like  seen  through  the  thick  air.  A  forest  fire 
was  raging  and  the  smoke  made  the  atmosphere  bitter 
and  woody. 

The  little  town  was  at  length  reached.  The  streets 
were  deserted,  for  most  of  the  inhabitants  had  gone 
out  into  the  woods  to  fight  the  flames.  As  they  passed 
along  Hecla  noticed  the  new  hotel  and  other  improve 
ments  of  the  place,  which  she  knew  were  largely  due 
to  Richard's  talent  and  enterprise. 

"Wentworth,"  she  said,  "my  husband  labored  for 
others  and  success  was  in  his  grasp.  But  he  will  never 
live  to  see  his  ambitions  realized !" 

"Don't  despair,"  was  "Wentworth's  answer;  "he  is  a 
strong  man  and  that  means  everything  in  fever/' 

"Ah,  but  you  forget  that  he  has  worn  himself  out 
in  his  work.  No  one  appreciates  what  heroic  sacrifices 
my  husband  has  made." 

Xobody  was  at  the  tavern  door  when  they  drew  up, 
and  Hecla,  bidding  Wentworth  wait  below  until  she 
summoned  him,  mounted  the  stairs  to  Hallett's  rooms. 
She  knocked,  and  after  a  minute  the  door  was  opened 
by  Mr.  Donovan.  His  face  expressed  his  surprise  as 


CONSCIENCE    AND   MEMORY  363 

he  stood  aside  for  her  to  enter.  Hecla  did  not  offer 
him  her  hand  as  she  paused  before  the  closed  door 
leading  into  her  husband's  bedroom. 

"Mr.  Donovan/'  she  controlled  her  voice  with  an 
effort,  "I  want  to  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  my 
husband.  I  did  not  know  of  his  illness  until  to-day  or  I 
should  have  come  at  once  to  relieve  you." 

"You  have  come  to  nurse  your  husband?"  he  said. 

Her  lips  tightened  a  little  at  the  tone  in  which  he 
spoke,  and  she  answered  quickly: 

"Does  that  seem  strange  to  you?  You  are  surprised 
that  a  wife  should  go  to  her  husband's  sick  bed  ?" 

"I  had  hardly  expected  you  to  risk  your  life/'  he  re 
plied  with  bitter  candor.  "Your  husband  has  had  a 
mild  case  of  typhus  and  he  did  not  wish  you  to  be 
subjected  to  contagion.  He  begged  me  to  keep  you 
ignorant  of  his  illness  as  long  as  possible." 

"And  you  obeyed  him.  But  why  should  I  expect 
consideration  from  you?  It  is  enough  that  I  am  here 
now  to  take  your  place." 

"My  place,  Mrs.  Hallett !  You  came  with  the  inten 
tion  of  dismissing  me  ?  Let  me  assure  you  I  never  should 
have  deserted  my  friend.  I  have  long  been  attached 
to  your  husband,"  he  added  with  feeling,  "and  I  owed 
it  to  him  to  look  after  him  in  sickness." 

"Why  should  you  think  that  necessary,  Mr.  Donovan  ? 
You  seem  to  forget  that  he  has  a  wife !" 

Hecla's  face  scarce  hid  her  dislike  of  this  man,  who 
had  caused  her  so  much  suffering  and  now  interposed 
himself  between  Richard  and  herself. 

Mr.  Donovan  reciprocated  her  hostile  feelings.  He 
suspected  her  of  being  the  cause  of  Harmony's  renun- 


364  HECLA   SANDWITH 

ciation  of  him,  and  the  bitterness  this  had  provoked  in 
him  had  increased  as  he  witnessed  what  he  considered 
her  heartless  neglect  of  her  husband.  How  much  Hal- 
lett  had  suffered  he  realized  from  tending  him  during 
his  illness. 

The  smoke  of  the  forest  fire  had  at  times  made  the 
air  of  the  sick  room  heavy  and  difficult  to  breathe. 
Seated  by  his  friend's  bedside  he  had  listened  to  his 
feverish  muttering  that  revealed  the  love  and  longing 
hidden  in  Hallett's  heart.  One  of  the  patient's  hallu 
cinations  was  that  there  was  an  oppressive  perfume 
about  him.  His  mind  had  harked  back  to  his  arrival  at 
Dunkirk  and  his  encountering  Hecla  at  Christy  Pickle's 
cottage;  and  it  was  the  night-blooming  cereus,  the 
odor  of  which  had  floated  to  him  through  the  open  win 
dow,  that  he  fancied  he  now  breathed.  "How  sweet  it 
is !"  Donovan  heard  him  moan.  "Take  it  away ;  I  can 
not  endure  it !  Take  it  away !  No,  no,  do  not  take  it 
away !  It  is  Hecla  !  Come,  Hecla,  come  !"  Hallett  had 
told  him  of  their  first  meeting,  and  it  seemed  to  the 
rector  there  was  something  symbolic  in  the  fancy  that 
beset  the  sick  man.  It  was  with  the  sense  of  all  this 
upon  him  that  he  replied : 

"If  I  have  forgotten  he  has  a  wife,  Mrs.  Hallett, 
whose  fault  is  that?  But  this  discussion  is  unneces* 
sary;  your  husband  left  for  Philadelphia  last  night." 

Hecla  stared  incredulously,  then  she  went  quickly 
by  him  and  pushed  open  the  door  into  Eichard's  bed 
chamber.  There  was  no  one  there,  and  from  the  signs 
of  disorder  she  could  see  that  Mr.  Donovan  had  been 
engaged  in  packing  up  her  husband's  belongings. 
Eichard  was  gone ;  she  faced  the  rector  passionately. 


CONSCIENCE    AND    MEMORY  365 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?"  she  cried.  "It  is  not 
true,  then,  that  my  husband  has  been  ill  ?'' 

"He  has  been  ill,  Mrs.  Hallett,"  was  the  reply,  "but 
he  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  attempt  the  journey.  I 
thought  it  most  ill-advised  in  his  condition,  and  did 
all  in  my  power  to  prevent  his  going.  But  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  and  would  not  listen  to  me." 

Hecla  did  not  answer;  she  was  struggling  with  her 
bitter  disappointment.  The  bedroom  windows  fronted 
the  west  and  the  sun  was  setting,  a  swollen  red  ball, 
in  the  film  of  smoke  hanging  over  the  wild  leagues  of 
mountain  landscape.  With  unseeing  eyes  she  stared  at 
the  outer  world,  bathed  in  tragic  redness  like  a  great 
shedding  of  heart's  blood.  Then,  in  a  fit  of  weakness, 
she  sank  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed — the  lonely  bed 
where  so  often  her  husband  had  lain  sleepless — and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

She  lived  over  again  her  last  meeting  with  Richard, 
from  his  unexpected  coming  to  the  moment  when  she 
had  cried :  "Then  I  give  you  up !"  On  the  long  jour 
ney  to  Snow  Shoe  she  had  thought  of  what  she  would 
say  to  him  in  reparation ;  she  had  pictured  his  pleasure 
at  seeing  her,  his  gratitude  when  he  learned  that  she 
had  come  to  nurse  him.  And  instead  what  had  she 
found !  An  empty  room !  "How  cruel,  how  cruel !"  she 
murmured. 

Mr.  Donovan  stood  watching  her  with  suddenly 
awakened  pity.  After  all,  it  was  not  his  right  to  judge 
her.  Perhaps  he  had  been  mistaken,  and  she  loved  her 
husband. 

"Mrs.  Hallett,"  he  said  gently,  "I  see  now  that  I  com 
mitted  an  error  in  promising  your  husband  not  to  tell 


366  HECLA    SANDWITH 

you  of  his  illness.  It  was  as  unkind  of  me  as  my  words 
to  you  a  minute  ago.  My  excuse  is  that  I  saw  how  lone 
ly  he  was  and  how  much  he  suffered  for  want  of  your 
society.  It  seemed  to  me  that  you  were  indifferent  to 
him — an  unfeeling  wife.  Forgive  me  for  my  uncharita- 
bleness,  Mrs.  Hallett.  I  know  now  that  I  have  wronged 
you/' 

"You  have  not  wronged  me,"  she  murmured  misera 
bly;  "I  have  wronged  myself." 

"I  know,"  he  continued  after  a  pause,  "that  you  dis 
like  me  and  that  you  have  resented  my  friendship  for 
your  husband.  It  is  true  I  have  given  you  cause  for 
such  feelings.  But,  believe  me,  I  have  never  ceased  to 
regret  the  quarrel  with  your  father.  I  have  a  quick 
temper  and  I  let  it  get  the  mastery  of  me.  Mrs.  Hal 
lett,"  he  added,  as  she  did  not  answer  him,  "we  can  not 
afford  to  have  hate  in  our  hearts.  Why  mayn't  you  and  I 
be  friends  ?" 

"I  have  hated  you/'  she  answered,  "that  is  true. 
My  father  was  everything  to  me,  and  you  insulted  him. 
And  it  was  you  who  told  Eichard  what  people  said 
about  me !" 

"Ah,  that  was  another  of  my  mistakes." 

"Mistakes !"  she  echoed.  "What  is  life  but  a  series  of 
mistakes !"  She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him  with 
her  tragic  eyes.  Desolation  was  strong  upon  her  and 
his  face  was  so  full  of  sympathy  and  kindness  that  she 
was  moved  impulsively  to  put  out  her  hand. 

"Mr.  Donovan,"  she  said,  "I  have  been  unjust  to  you. 
I  have  been  thinking  only  of  your  unkindness  in  not 
telling  me  of  my  husband's  illness — I  should  have  re 
membered  that  you  risked  your  life  to  nurse  him." 


CONSCIENCE    AND   MEMORY  367 

"It  was  nothing/'  he  answered.  "I  did  only  what  any 
friend  would  have  done." 

"It  was  everything/'  she  returned,  "and  I  thank 
you."  Then,  after  a  moment,  she  said:  "Mr.  Donovan, 
my  sister  loves  you." 

"She  loved  me  once,  Mrs.  Hallctt,"  he  replied  quietly, 
"but  she  loves  me  no  more." 

"And  you  will  not  try  to  regain  her  love  ?" 

Tears  came  into  Hecla's  eyes  as  she  looked  at  him. 

"Your  sister  believes  she  has  found  greater  happiness 
than  I  could  ever  give  her,"  he  said  reverently. 

On  the  way  home  Wentworth,  who  divined  the 
trouble  Hecla  hid  from  him,  endeavored  to  cheer  her  by 
talking  of  trivial  things;  but  Hecla  paid  little  heed. 
Her  eyes  stared  into  the  falling  darkness  where,  miles 
off,  was  the  lurid  line  of  fire  that  like  a  serpent  roamed 
the  wooded  wilderness.  High  overhead  great  trees 
started  through  the  smoke  like  Juntuns  in  Nifleim  of 
Scandinavian  myth.  The  carriage,  lurching  along  the 
road,  struck  boulders  that  had  gnawed  their  way  to  the 
surface  or  hung  at  perilous  angles  over  precipices.  Oc 
casionally  they  were  startled  by  the  rustling  flight  of 
deer.  And  once  as  the  carriage  passed  a  rocky  ravine 
the  lonely  long-drawn  cry  of  a  catamount  smote  their 
ears. 

It  was  almost  midnight  when  they  reached  Burn- 
ham.  The  house  was  muffled  in  darkness;  and  no  one 
came  to  answer  the  summons  of  the  great  brass  knocker. 
Finally  Noah  went  to  the  rear  of  the  house  to  rouse 
the  servants,  and  Hecla,  as  she  waited,  leaned  wearily 
against  the  doorpost.  She  felt  the  depression  of  this 


368  HECLA    SANDWITH 

home-coming,  with  no  one  up  waiting  to  welcome  her. 
Following  upon  the  experiences  of  the  day  it  seemed 
to  her  a  proof  that  she  was  unloved  by  her  family, 
for  whom  she  had  sacrificed  her  husband.  David — 
how  much  did  he  care  for  her  ?  He  had  never  forgiven 
her  for  the  marriage  she  had  forced  him  into.  Har 
mony  was  wrapped  up  in  evangelical  missions  and 
Dorcas  pieties.  And  Jervis — grave  little  Jervis — was 
he  not  better  content  seated  by  himself  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  a  picture-book  on  his  knee,  than  when  she 
drew  him  to  her  side  and  talked  about  his  father? 

There  was  the  rattling  of  the  chain  inside,  the  bolt 
was  withdrawn,  and  Noah  opened  the  door  for  her. 

She  entered  the  gloomy  hall. 

"Is  no  one  awake,  Noah?"  she  cried  impatiently. 

"Yes,  Hecla,  I  am  awake,"  she  heard  the  gentle  voice 
of  Harmony  say  from  the  landing  of  the  stairs,  and 
the  next  minute  she  was  in  her  sister's  arms. 

"Harmony,  Harmony,"  she  murmured,  giving  her  a 
tired  kiss. 

"How  is  Richard  ?"  Harmony  asked  as  she  helped  her 
off  with  her  wraps. 

"He  is  better.  He  has  gone  to  Philadelphia,"  Hecla 
briefly  answered. 

"I  thought  he  must  be  better,  for  a  note  in  his  hand 
writing  came  shortly  after  thee  left  for  Snow  Shoe." 

"A  note  from  Richard !   Give  it  to  me  !" 

Hastily  taking  the  letter  from  Harmony's  hand,  she 
tore  it  open  and  read  it  by  the  flicker  of  the  hall  can 
dles. 

Harmony  had  gone  to  the  dining-room  to  get  her 
sister  something  to  eat  after  her  trying  journey.  When 


CONSCIENCE   AND   MEMORY  369 

she  came  back  Hecla  stood  in  front  of  the  old  Dutch 
clock,  the  hands  of  which  still  pointed  to  the  hour  on 
which  Joshua  Sandwith  had  died,  for  his  daughter  had 
forbidden  the  works  to  be  wound  up  again. 

"What  time  is  it?"  she  asked. 

Hecla's  face  was  hidden  from  her,  but  Harmony  no 
ticed  the  strangeness  of  her  voice. 

"I  think  midnight  has  just  struck." 

Hecla  went  up  to  the  dial  and  altered  the  hands  to 
the  hour  of  twelve. 

Then  she  turned  with  a  white  look  to  her  sister. 

"Harmony,"  she  said,  "Richard  is  dead  to  me.  As 
long  as  the  clock  points  to  this  hour  promise  me  never 
to  mention  his  name !" 

"Hecla,"  Harmony  asked  with  quick  tears,  "what 
has  happened  ?" 

"Richard  has  deserted  me,"  Hecla  answered;  "he 
has  gone  back  to  England." 

And  taking  her  candle  she  slowly  mounted  the  stairs. 


CHAPTEE  XIII 

0,  CALL  BACK  YESTERDAY,  BID  TIME  KETUEN 

When  Hecla  fixed  the  hands  of  the  silent  hall-clock  at 
the  hour  on  which  she  had  received  the  news  of  Eich- 
ard's  return  to  England,  she  considered  her  husband  as 
dead  to  her  as  her  own  father.  She  had  read  the  letter 
like  one  in  a  dream,  hardly  able  to  credit  what  it 
stated.  She  was  stunned  at  this  unexpected  act  on 
Eichard's  part;  then  quickened  into  feelings  of  outrage 
as  she  realized  that  she  was  a  deserted  wife.  It  was  the 
stinging  humiliation  of  this  that  had  driven  her  to  set 
the  clock  that  it  might  serve  as  a  perpetual  reminder 
of  the  hour  when  Eichard  Hallett  passed  out  of  her  life. 

As  she  mounted  the  stairs  she  asked  herself  how 
Eichard  could  have  treated  her  so  heartlessly.  He  had 
wished  to  pain  her,  revenge  himself  for  her  repudiation 
of  him  on  their  last  meeting. 

Sitting  in  her  room  where  her  unnoticed  reflection 
in  the  mirror  gazed  at  her  like  some  reproachful  ghost, 
Hecla  reread  the  letter. 

Eichard  wrote  that  he  was  going  back  to  England  for 
both  their  sakes.  Their  marriage  had  been  a  mistake. 
The  only  thing  he  might  do  to  repair  the  ill  that  had 
been  wrought  was  to  leave  Dunkirk.  She  need  think  of 
him  no  more.  Yet  if  the  time  should  come  when  wifely 

370 


3M 

feelings  awakened  in  her  heart  she  had  only  to  bid  him 
return  to  her. 

Hecla,  having  finished  reading  the  letter,  held  it  in 
her  lap,  while  her  eyes,  fixed  on  the  candle,  watched  how^ 
the  wax  melted  away  in  golden  tears. 

She  was  thinking  of  what  his  going  meant. 

There  were  cases  of  marital  difficulty  in  Dunkirk,  but 
no  degree  of  unhappiness  had  led  husband  or  wife  to 
attempt  the  solution  of  their  troubles  by  separation. 
Convention  was  too  strong  a  factor  in  the  narrow  life 
of  the  town  and,  having  taken  the  vows  of  wedlock, 
Hecla's  friends  and  acquaintances  accepted  whatever 
fate  was  theirs.  And  Richard  had  abandoned  her,  had 
left  her  to  face  the  criticism  and  gossip  of  the  town. 
Oh,  it  was  cruel,  cruel  of  him  so  to  humiliate  and  dis 
grace  her ! 

But  as  the  days  passed  deeper  thoughts  came  to  her. 

She  began  to  see,  as  she  reflected  on  her  brief  life 
with  Richard  Hallett,  what  wrong  she  had  done  her 
husband  and  herself  in  marrying  him.  Recollections 
crowded  upon  her.  Her  mind  traveled  back  over  the 
history  of  their  relations  with  each  other,  from  their 
early  meetings  to  the  final  parting  in  anger  on  the 
ghostly  November  eve.  She  recalled  his  offer  of  mar 
riage  the  day  he  had  found  her  seated  disconsolately  at 
the  spinet,  thinking  of  Wentworth.  She  remembered 
her  conversation  with  her  father  after  he  had  departed, 
and  his  counsel  that  she  marry  only  for  love ;  the  scene 
between  Wentworth  and  herself,  when  she  had  gone  to 
his  office  and  told  him  of  her  engagement,  and  he  had 
begged  her  not  to  make  a  loveless  match.  She  lived  over 
again  her  wedding  night,  when  she  had  fled  from  the 


372  HECLA   SANBWITH 

hotel  in  nameless  fear.  She  considered  it  all,  and  saw 
how  everywhere  the  question  of  love  rose  confrontingly. 

It  was  love  that  Richard  had  craved  and  that  she  had 
not  been  able  to  give  him.  Hecla  could  gage  how  much 
it  represented  to  him,  since  it  was  his  sense  of  having 
failed  to  win  her  heart  which  had  caused  him  to  relin 
quish  his  mine  and  return  to  England. 

Yes,  she  had  done  him  an  irreparable  injury  in  mar 
rying  him  without  love.  She  had  been  dominated  by  a 
false  sense  of  duty.  She  had  flattered  herself  that  she 
had  been  sacrificed ;  instead  she  had  sacrificed  him.  She 
had  called  him  selfish  when  it  was  she  who  had  shown 
herself  so.  She  had  demanded  everything  of  him  and 
she  had  offered  nothing  in  return. 

It  was  given  her  to  see  with  new  and  better  judgment 
her  past  life.  She  recognized  the  many  mistakes  she  had 
made ;  beheld  how,  in  situations  where  she  believed  most 
firmly  she  had  done  what  was  right,  she  had  signally 
failed.  For,  after  all,  it  is  not  in  a  cold  conception 
of  duty  that  the  best  part  of  life  lay,  but  rather  in  that 
warmer,  fuller  spirit  of  obligation  toward  others  which 
is  born  of  love.  It  is  love  that  is  the  touchstone  and 
magic  of  helpfulness;  and  it  was  this  she  had  too  often 
forgotten ;  this  wras  the  reason  why  she  had  failed  to  ac 
complish  the  good  she  thought  she  had  sacrificed  so 
much  for. 

This  summing  up  of  her  past  mistakes  was  a  supreme 
schooling  of  character  for  Hecla.  At  first  it  seemed  to 
her  that  her  regrets  were  more  than  she  could  bear ;  and 
she  rebelled  against  the  inevitable  law  of  circumstance 
which  allowed  her  so  little  chance  to  undo  her  acts.  To 
recall  Richard  would  be  of  no  avail,  for  while  her  ad- 


CALL    BACK   YESTEHDAY  373 

miration  for  the  hidden  heroism  of  his  life  was  growing 
she  recognized  that  she  was  unable  to  offer  him  love — 
the  only  reparation  that  could  count  if  he  returned  to 
her. 

During  the  winter  months  that  elapsed  Hecla  was  ill, 
but  as  the  spring  approached  she  felt  the  tides  of  life 
flow  warmly  in  her  again,  and  a  new  budding  of  in 
terest  in  things  about  her.  She  determined  to  shape  her 
life,  as  far  as  possible,  according  to  the  new  light  that 
she  had  discovered.  Her  resolve  was  henceforth  to  dedi 
cate  herself  to  her  family  in  a  finer,  more  human  sense. 
She  had  reckoned  according  to  the  strict  standard  of 
duty;  now  it  seemed  to  her  that  to  give  happiness  to 
others  was  the  highest  obligation  of  all.  How  much  bet 
ter  to  be  indulgent  than  merely  just!  Not  simply  to 
abide  by  the  cold  statutes  of  human  conduct,  but  to 
satisfy  as  best  she  might  the  craving  of  all  the  world 
for  sympathy  and  understanding. 

Hecla  thought  of  Harmony,  so  quiet  and  unassuming, 
so  involuntarily  good,  without  reasoning  effort,  and  she 
contrasted  her  with  herself  and  her  own  intellectual 
processes  in  the  matter  of  character  and  conduct. 
Changed  and  greatly  softened,  made  to  view  life  with 
different  eyes,  Hecla  revalued  Harmony  and  placed  her 
in  a  scale  which  she  had  denied  her  in  the  past.  Her 
half-sister's  Christian  sweetness  she  had  rather  de 
spised  ;  she  saw  now  that  it  was  this  sweetness  which  her 
own  character  had  most  lacked,  and  her  affection  for 
Harmony  in  consequence  increased. 

Hecla  did  not  regret  the  impulse  which  had  led  her, 
from  misery  at  finding  her  husband  gone,  to  accept 
John  Donovan's  sympathy  and  friendship.  She  won- 


374  HECLA    SANDWITH 

dered  now  how  she  could  have  so  fostered  the  bitter 
dislike  she  had  felt  for  him.  The  rector  had  been  the 
cause  of  her  misunderstanding  with  both  Harmony  and 
her  husband;  yet  he  was  Eichard's  friend  and  had 
proved  his  devotion  to  him  by  nursing  him  at  the  risk 
of  his  own  life.  It  became  her  great  desire  to  show  him 
that  she  could  rise  above  old  emotions  of  jealousy  and 
hate,  and  prove  her  appreciation  of  his  kindness  to 
Eichard.  Therefore,  when  they  next  met  she  asked  him 
to  the  house,  and  as  she  grew  to  know  his  character  she 
was  as  anxious  to  have  him  and  Harmony  marry  as  for 
merly  she  had  opposed  their  love. 

She  was  grateful  to  the  young  rector  for  his  silence 
on  the  subject  of  Eichard's  departure  for  England. 
How  much  he  knew  of  the  reasons  that  caused  her  hus 
band  to  leave  her  she  was  unaware;  but  no  gossip  ever 
reached  her  ears  springing  from  information  he  had 
given  others ;  and  Hecla  could  easily  imagine  how  often 
he  had  been  asked  questions  on  the  subject,  since  he  was 
Eichard's  close  friend. 

Indeed,  it  was  largely  owing  to  the  tactfulncss  of 
John  Donovan  and  the  Markhams  that  the  alienation 
between  her  husband  and  herself  did  not  become  a  con 
firmed  scandal  on  Dunkirk  doorsteps.  Mr.  Markham, 
who  had  gone  to  Philadelphia  to  bring  back  the  Welsh 
miners  hired  by  Eichard,  spoke  to  Hecla  on  his  return 
of  having  seen  her  husband  before  his  sailing.  He  had 
stood  the  journey  to  Philadelphia  better,  Mr.  Markham 
told  her,  than  was  to  be  expected  in  the  case  of  one 
hardly  more  than  feebly  convalescent.  The  long  sea- 
trip  was  what  Eichard  needed  to  recover  his  strength. 
Mr.  Markham  made  no  reference  to  the  length  of  her 


CALL    BACK    YESTERDAY  375 

husband's  stay  in  England,  but  Hccla  learned  that  while 
in  Philadelphia  a  new  manager  of  the  mine  had  been 
engaged  by  him. 

For  once  Hetty  did  her  cousin  a  good  turn  by  circu 
lating  the  rumor  through  the  town  that  Eichard  Hallett 
had  returned  to  England  to  claim  a  large  fortune  left 
him  by  a  distant  relative.  Triumphant  as  Hetty  was 
over  the  apparent  proof  of  her  wisdom  in  deprecating 
Hecla's  marriage  to  a  "strange  Englishman,"  she  re 
served  her  expression  of  this  feeling  for  the  family  ears 
alone.  She  was  fond  of  Hecla  in  her  own  way,  and,  as 
she  declared,  had  no  intention  of  giving  Pinkie  Tathem 
and  other  malicious  Dunkirk  tongues  an  opportunity  to 
wag  at  the  expense  of  a  Sandwith. 

So  it  finally  became  an  accepted  fact  that,  after  all, 
there  had  been  no  quarrel  between  Hecla  and  her  hus 
band,  but  that  Eichard  Hallett's  sudden  departure  to 
England  was  due  to  important  business  reasons. 

One  day  when  Wentworth  came  out  to  Burnham  to 
see  Hecla,  he  met  Mr.  Donovan  leaving  the  house.  He 
was  not  surprised  at  this,  for  he  knew  something  of 
Hecla's  change  of  feeling  toward  the  man  she  had  once 
so  violently  disliked. 

As  they  were  sitting  together  in  the  parlors,  he  said 
to  Hecla:  "Doesn't  it  seem  a  pity  that  Harmony  and 
Donovan  do  not  marry?  You  would  like  it,  wouldn't 
you  ?" 

"I  would  indeed,  Wentworth,"  Hecla  answered.  "I 
wish  the  marriage,  hope  for  it,  although  Harmony  be 
lieves  that  she  is  dedicated  to  good  works.  But  making 
those  who  love  us  happy  is,  after  all,  the  best  of  works, 
isn't  it  ?  Ah,  Wentworth,  duty !  duty !  that  was  the  word 


376  HECLA    SANDWITH 

always  on  my  lips ;  duty  at  the  expense  often  of  natural, 
kinder  ways  of  looking  at  things ;  duty,  no  matter  what 
had  to  be  sacrificed.  I  have  lived  so  much  in  the  last  two 
years  since  I  came  back  from  school,  a  raw,  hard,  self- 
assured  girl !  I  am  glad  that  if  I  have  grown  sadder  I 
have  also  grown  wiser;  and  I  have  come  to  understand 
what  duty  really  is !  It  is  the  sympathy,  affection,  we 
owe  others;  not  the  good  we  plan  to  do  with  the  head 
alone.  Ah,  Wentworth,  my  mistakes,  my  mistakes  in 
life !  I  am  no  longer  what  I  was,  for  experience  has  so 
humbled  me!  Yes/'  she  added  after  a  moment,  "I  do 
earnestly  wish  Mr.  Donovan  could  win  Harmony.  I 
have  come  to  see  how  wrong  it  was  of  me  to  oppose  their 
love ;  and  you  know  it  means  a  great  deal  for  me  to  for 
get  that  old  antipathy  of  mine." 

"It  was  a  mistake,  Hecla ;  but  your  affection  for  your 
father  blinded  you.  Donovan  is  very  much  liked  and 
respected." 

"It  was  more  than  a  mistake,  it  was  a  crime,  Went 
worth  ;  and  I  never  cease  to  reproach  myself.  Harmony 
would  have  married  him  if  I  had  not  interfered.  "We 
always  mistook  Harmony,  Wentworth.  We  thought  her 
weak,  and  she  is  as  strong  as  she  is  good." 

"Hecla,  you  are  greatly  changed !" 

"No,  Wentworth,  I  am  not  changed.  Do  you  think 
our  character  ever  really  changes  ?  We  are  what  we  are ! 
Only  I  think  that  I  had  no  heart, — as  so  many  people  be 
lieved." 

"I  never  thought  it,  Hecla !" 

"Ah,  you  have  always  been  good  and  patient  with 
me."  Tears  started  to  her  eyes.  "And  it  is  I  who  have 
hurt  your  life.  It  is  my  fault  you  are  not  happily  mar- 


CALL   BACK   YESTERDAY  377 

ried.  Your  mother  wanted  you  to  win  Rhoda  Markham 
for  your  wife.  Rhoda  cares  for  you,  Wentworth ;  I  know 
it,  although  she  tries  to  hide  it  from  me.  Sometimes," 
she  said  after  a  pause,  "I  feel  that  it  was  decreed  from 
the  beginning  I  should  be  an  element  of  ill  in  the  lives 
of  those  around  me.  Think,  Wentworth,  it  is  I  who  was 
the  cause  of  my  father's  death !" 

"You  are  too  hard  on  yourself/'  he  answered.  "You 
have  never  injured  me.  It  was  not  your  fault  that  I 
loved  you — that  I  love  you  still !" 

"Wentworth,"  she  said,  putting  out  her  hand  to  him, 
"I  loved  you  once,  too.  If  I  had  my  life  to  live  over 
again  I  should  never  have  refused  your  love.  I  do  not 
say  it  would  have  been  right  of  me,  but  as  I  feel  now  I 
know  I  should  not  have  allowed  duty  to  weigh.  Do  you 
understand  me?  The  greatest  tragedy  to  me  is  that 
I  have  never  made  any  one  happy.  It  is  too  late — too 
late!  No  matter,  even  if  I  were  free — for  my  love  for 
you  died  when  Richard  left." 

"Hecla,"  he  said  gently,  "it  is  my  reward  to  know 
that  at  least  you  loved  me  once." 

"Ah,  Wentworth,  don't  think  of  me  any  more  that 
way.  It  makes  my  heart  ache  so.  Let  me  have  the  peace 
of  feeling  that  though  I  have  hurt  your  past  I  shall  not 
make  your  future  unhappy !" 

There  was  silence  for  a  while,  then  Wentworth  said : 

"Hecla,  you  do  not  know  it,  but  you  have  grown  .to 
love  your  husband.  Why  don't  you  ask  him  to  come 
back  to  you?" 

"No,  no,"  she  answered,  turning  from  him.  "I  shall 
never  bid  him  come  back  to  me.  Our  marriage  was  a 


378  HECLA   SANDWITH 

mistake.  I  wasn't  the  kind  of  woman  to  make  him 
happy.  No,  things  are  better  as  they  are/' 

"Are  you  certain,  Hecla?  I  don't  believe  that  your 
husband  thinks  so." 

"He  thought  it,  Wentworth,  or  he  never  would  have 
left  me !"  she  answered.  "Do  not  try  to  persuade  me 
to  commit  another  mistake  by  asking  him  to  return." 


CHAPTEK   XIV 
SOUR  MISFORTUNE'S  BOOK 

It  was  a  summer  afternoon  in  the  year  following 
Bichard  Hallett's  departure  for  England.  Hecla  was 
on  her  way  to  Dunkirk,  to  take  tea  with  her  cousin 
Hetty.  She  walked  languidly  and  it  was  with  a  certain 
sensitive  dignity  that  she  received  the  passing  greetings 
of  friends  and  acquaintances.  There  was  something 
peculiar  in  these  bows  of  recognition,  as  if  in  each  case 
an  effort  was  made  to  conceal  and  at  the  same  time  show 
Hecla  sympathy. 

Hecla  knew  that  the  cause  of  these  embarrassed 
greetings  was  the  failure  of  her  father's  furnace.  The 
crisis  had  finally  come.  Wentworth  had  refused  to  con 
sent  to  the  mortgage  being  placed  on  the  property,  and 
Hecla,  desperate  over  her  husband's  refusal  to  enter 
into  partnership  with  Dave,  had  been  persuaded  by  her 
brother  to  indorse  several  large  notes  for  him  by  which 
he  was  able  to  tide  over  his  immediate  difficulties.  She 
had  steadily  refused  to  agree  to  the  sale  of  the  Works, 
saying  that  it  would  never  have  been  her  father's  wish 
that  she  should  do  so.  The  result  was  that  a  new  lease 
for  another  year  was  given  Dave. 

Thus,  for  the  next  few  months,  he  struggled  on, 
manufacturing  iron,  the  market  price  of  which  had 

379 


380  HECLA    SANDWITH 

risen  a  little,  but  was  still  discouragingly  low.  At  length 
Dave  was  obliged  to  confess  that  he  was  so  pressed  by 
his  creditors  that  he  could  no  longer  carry  on  the  busi 
ness. 

It  was  decided  therefore  in  a  final  interview  between 
Dave,  Hecla  and  Wentworth,  that  the  only  thing  left  to 
do  was  to  put  the  furnace  at  auction,  and  thus  meet 
the  obligations  which  Hecla  had  partly  assumed  by  in 
dorsing  David's  notes. 

The  depression  of  the  times  did  not  favor  an  ad 
vantageous  disposal  of  the  property;  and  weeks  passed 
without  any  adequate  offers  being  made. 

Hecla,  as  she  walked  along  the  streets  of  Dunkirk,  saw 
the  bills  announcing  the  sale  pasted  on  posts  and  tree- 
trunks.  It  seemed  to  her,  as  she  gazed  at  them,  that 
this  public  testimony  to  the  ruin  of  the  family  would 
never  end. 

It  had  taken  some  courage  to  come  to  town ;  but  Hetty 
and  her  husband  were  leaving  for  a  grand  European 
tour  and  Hecla  wished  to  bid  them  farewell. 

Hetty's  marriage  to  Blair  Nandine  had  occurred  that 
spring,  and  had  been  her  final  defiance  of  her  Uncle 
Gideon  Sandwith  and  Quaker  faith.  She  had  already 
satisfied  her  long-restricted  taste  for  gay  wearing  ap 
parel  by  appearing  in  costumes  and  jewels  which  had 
created  a  sensation  in  Dunkirk  circles.  Declaring  that 
her  guardian  had  driven  her  out  of  Meeting,  she  started 
on  a  checkered  religious  career,  attaching  herself,  in 
turn,  to  the  various  Christian  bodies,  and  finding  in 
each  case  some  cause  of  dissatisfaction.  There  was, 
she  declared,  too  much  ritual  at  the  Little  Church  on 
the  Hill,  to  which  her  husband  belonged ;  and  she  found 


SOUR   MISFORTUNE'S   BOOK  381 

Presbyterianism  depressing  on  account  of  the  long  ser 
mons  and  the  lugubrious  psalm-singing;  and  so  she 
wandered  restlessly  from  one  church  to  another,  drag 
ging  her  husband  with  her.  Having  exhausted  the  re 
sources  of  Dunkirk,  Hetty  decided  she  must  see  the 
world,  especially  Paris,  which  offered  the  long-dreamed- 
of  delights  of  shopping. 

Hecla  found  Blair  Nandine  standing  disconsolately 
on  the  doorstep  of  his  home,  smoking  a  cigar.  Hetty 
forbade  smoking  in  the  house.  He  had  ceased  to  recite 
Shakespeare  and  write  sonnets;  for  Hetty  detested 
poetry.  He  was  no  longer  the  spruce  young  dandy  he 
had  been  in  his  bachelor  days,  for  Hetty  did  not  ap 
prove  of  extravagance  in  a  husband.  If  money  was  to 
be  expended  on  dress  it  was  her  place  to  spend  it.  Blair 
had  had  his  fling  in  fine  array,  while  she  had  the  arrears 
of  a  whole  lifetime  to  make  up. 

"Hetty  has  been  closeted  with  Wentworth  Oliver  the 
last  two  days,"  he  informed  Hecla  in  a  mournful  voice. 
"She's  making  her  will.  And  she's  worried  over  Clio," — 
Clio  was  Hetty's  lap-dog — "who  is  so  fat  from  over 
feeding  he  can  hardly  draw  his  breath.  I  sometimes 
think,  Hecla,  that  Hetty  cares  more  for  that  dog  than 
she  does  for  me." 

Hetty  was  in  an  upper  room  seated  among  heaps  of 
linen,  piles  of  silver,  and  a  scattering  of  other  chattels. 
She  was  counting  these  over  before  returning  them  to 
their  well-locked  closets  and  coffers,  where  they  reposed, 
except  when  Hetty  gave  one  of  her  rare  tea-parties  in 
tended  to  impress  Dunkirk  by  their  splendor. 

"I  have  been  putting  things  in  order,  Hecla,"  she  an 
nounced,  "in  case  I'm  drowned  in  mid-ocean.  I  know 


382  HECLA   SANDWITH 

how  delighted  Dunkirk  would  be  to  discover  a  higgledy- 
piggledy  house  to  talk  about  after  I'm  dead!  Yes,  as 
Blair  probably  told  thee — you,  I  mean" — Hetty  was 
still  struggling  to  overcome  her  habit  of  using  the  plain 
language — "I  have  been  making  my  will.  I  suppose 
you'd  like  to  know  whether  I  have  put  thee — put  you 
down  for  enough  to  make  you  wish  that  the  ship'll  sink 
crossing  the  Atlantic.  There's  the  portrait  of  John 
Jervis  and  the  silver  tankard  you  always  begrudged 
me.  If  you'd  not  been  so  envious  of  my  having  them  I 
might  have  left  them  to  thee — to  you  (I  do  wonder  if 
I'll  ever  break  myself  of  the  thee-and-thou  habit !)  but 
you  have  John  Jervis'  ears — Blair  called  them  'twin 
brier  roses/  didn't  he? — so  the  rest  of  his  fine  legacies 
ought  to  go  to  some  other  member  of  the  family." 

Hetty  picked  up  a  coffee-urn — it  was  one  of  a  half- 
dozen  or  more  she  had,  for  the  tradition  of  keeping  was 
strong  in  her  blood — and  considered  it  doubtfully : 

"Well,  there's  this  old  coffee-pot.  I  haven't  mentioned 
it  in  the  will  as  it  is  only  plated  ware.  Thee  and  the  rest 
of  the  family  may  fight  over  it  if  you  want  to.  I  am 
sorry  about  the  Works,  Hecla,  although  I  do  think  half 
the  failure  came  about  because  Dave  married  a  girl  be 
neath  him.  When  I  finally  decided  to  take  Blair  I  made 
him  promise  in  writing  he  would  give  up  his  common 
relatives.  To  think  of  the  furnace  being  up  for  sale ! 
Benjamin  Truelove  ought  to  feel  quite  proud  the  way 
his  prediction  has  come  true.  I  am  really  sorry  for 
you,  Hecla.  I  wish  I  could  do  something  or  other." 

"There  is  nothing  you  can  do,  Hetty,  except  not  to 
say  unkind  things  of  my  brother." 

Hetty  knit  her  brow  in  thought.   "Of  course,  I  can't 


SOUR    MISFORTUNE'S    BOOK  383 

help  feeling  poor  with  Blair  to  support  and  losing  all 
of  Uncle  Gideon's  money  in  the  bargain;  but  there  are 
some  of  my  old  dresses,  Hecla,  if  you  care  for  them.  I 
hardly  think  I'll  want  them,  for  I  shall  buy  a  good 
many  things  in  Paris." 

"Thank  you,  Hetty,  but  I  have  all  the  dresses  I 
need." 

"Well,  help  me  put  these  things  away,  it's  getting  near 
tea-time.  I  have  had  such  a  trying  week  deciding  about 
my  will.  Of  course,  Blair  has  nothing  to  say,  seeing  the 
house  and  everything  in  it  is  mine.  I  told  him  when  I 
married  him  I  should  manage  my  property  myself.  I 
felt  a  little  worried  when  he  said,  'With  all  thy  worldly 
goods  I  me  endow'  in  the  marriage  service,  but  he  swore 
it  was  only  a  slip  of  the  tongue,  and  he  has  shown  the 
right  spirit  so  far,  so  we  get  on  quite  well.  Considering 
everything,  I  am  right  glad  I  married  him.  It  was  cer 
tainly  convenient  after  my  quarrel  with  Uncle  Gideon. 
Of  course,  there's  a  great  deal  of  expense  goes  with  the 
wedding  ring,  but  I  never  could  see  the  world  satisfac 
torily  if  I  traveled  single.  And  I  must  admit  Blair's 
been  pretty  economical  since  I  had  a  little  talk  with 
him  about  extravagance." 

Supper  was  over  and  Hecla  and  her  cousin  were  sit 
ting  in  the  parlor.  Blair  Nandine  had  gone  out,  glad 
to  escape  for  a  while  Hetty's  volubility  on  the  subject 
of  her  lap-dog's  and  her  own  ills.  Hetty  was  deep  in  a 
description  of  Clio's  last  attack  of  asthma  when  her  hus 
band  reappeared  with  an  air  of  importance. 

"Hecla,"  he  said,  "I  have  news  for  you !  The  Works 
have  been  sold  at  last !" 

"Are  you  sure  ?"  Hecla  said  faintly. 


384  HECLA   SANDWITH 

"Yes,  Mr.  Markham  has  bought  them." 

"So  Mr.  Markham  has  bought  my  father's  Works!" 
She  stared  in  front  of  her  unseeingly.  She  had  been 
waiting  for  this  announcement,  hoping  that  it  would 
come  soon  and  thus  end  the  strain  under  which  she 
labored;  yet  now  that  Hecla  Furnace  was  actually  sold 
the  news  was  like  a  stab  in  the  heart. 

"There  is  quite  a  good  deal  of  excitement  over  the 
sale.  I  strolled  down  to  the  Red  Lion,  and  found  a 
crowd  there  hurrahing  for  Mr.  Markham." 

"Why  should  there  be  any  hurrahing?"  Hecla  sadly 
questioned. 

"Why,  because  the  Works'  being  shut  down  has  made 
such  a  difference  to  the  tradespeople.  Mr.  Markham 
sent  for  Wentworth  to  come  out  to  Moshannon  Hall  yes 
terday  to  discuss  the  matter,  but  the  news  of  the  sale 
only  got  abroad  this  evening.  They  are  both  coming 
to  Dunkirk  to-night  and  the  crowd's  preparing  to  wel 
come  them." 

"Well,  I  hate  to  think  of  Wentworth  Oliver's  selling 
his  uncle's  furnace/'  Hetty  exclaimed  in  her  high 
treble. 

"I  don't  see  why,  Hetty,"  Hecla  said.  "He  is  doing 
it  for  my  sake.  Dave  and  I  are  both  anxious  that  the 
creditors  lose  nothing  through  the  failure." 

"Music !"  Blair  Nandine  informed  them.  "Mr.  Mark- 
ham  and  Wentworth  have  evidently  arrived,  and  they 
are  having  a  parade  in  their  honor." 

The  sounds  grew  louder,  and  now  they  could  catch 
the  familiar  strains  of  See,  the  Conquering  Hero  Comes, 
discordantly  breathed  forth  by  Dunkirk's  band  corps. 
The  musicians  came  marching  down  the  street  in  ad- 


SOUR   MISFORTUNE'S   BOOK  385 

vance  of  an  open  vehicle  that  contained  Mr.  Markham, 
Wentworth  and  the  burgess  of  the  town.  Following  this 
were  several  other  carriages,  in  which  prominent  mer 
chants  were  seated,  and  surrounding  them  a  crowd  of 
eager  citizens  hearing  torches  and  making  a  joyous  up 
roar,  above  which  the  name  of  Mr.  Markham  shot  like 
a  Fourth-of-July  rocket. 

"The  king  is  dead,  long  live  the  king !"  Blair  ISTandine 
quoted  as  he  stood  at  the  window. 

Hecla  had  listened  to  the  music  with  bitter  immobil 
ity;  but  Hetty  impetuously  sprang  from  her  seat  and 
looked  over  her  husband's  shoulders.  Seeing  that  the 
procession  was  going  to  pass  her  door  she  cried  in  shrill 
command:  "Blow  out  the  candles,  quick!"  Then  she 
disappeared  to  see  that  the  other  lights  in  the  house 
were  extinguished.  Blair  Nandine  was  meekly  obeying 
his  wife's  orders  when  Hetty,  irritated  by  his  slowness, 
pushed  him  aside  with  impatient  exclamation  and  fin 
ished  the  task  herself.  Then  she  drew  down  the  blinds. 
"There  !"  she  ejaculated  breathlessly. 

She  was  none  too  soon.  The  next  moment  they 
heard  the  tramp  of  feet  and  shouts  of  the  torch-bearers 
as  the  procession  went  by.  It  seemed  to  Hecla  as  it 
did  so  the  music  burst  into  louder  strains  and  the  crowd 
used  their  lungs  to  greater  effect  in  shouting  out  their 
satisfaction  that  Hecla  Furnace  had  found  a  new  mas 
ter. 

"Hetty,  how  could  you  act  so?"  she  said  as  the 
sounds  faded.  "You  know  it  only  gives  the  town  more 
pleasure  to  think  we  feel  badly." 

"I  don't  care,"  Hetty  retorted,  still  breathing  hard 
from  her  exertion,  "I  showed  Dunkirk  people  what  I 


386  HECLA    SANDWITH 

thought  of  their  conduct — the  ungrateful  turncoats! 
To  make  a  jubilation  over  Mr.  Markham's  buying  the 
Works,  after  thy  father  buttered  their  bread  for  half  a 
century !  Fancy  Wentworth  allowing  himself  to  be 
dragged  in  a  carriage  past  my  doors !" 

"I  am  sure  neither  Wentworth  nor  Mr.  Markham 
wished  to  be  dragged  in  a  carriage  past  your  doors, 
Hetty !  They  probably  had  to  submit.  I  am  grateful  to 
Wentworth  for  making  the  sale." 

"Wentworth  needn't  have  submitted.  He  never  did 
have  any  strength  of  character!  One  thing  is  certain, 
I  shan't  pay  him  for  drawing  up  my  will!"  Tears  of 
indignation  started  to  Hetty's  eyes.  "I  don't  knpw 
why,"  she  sobbed,  "but  I  feel  as  though  there  had  been 
a  death  in  the  family.  To  think  the  old  furnace  should 
have  come  into  the  hands  of  strangers,  and  the  whole 
town  hurrah  in  our  very  faces !" 

"It's  not  very  often  you  are  sorry  about  anything, 
Hetty." 

"Well,  I  think  thee's  very  mean  to  say  so !  I  didn't 
intend  telling  thee,  but  I  have  left  thee  all  my  money. 
I  suppose  now  thee'll  hope  I'll  drown  crossing  the  ocean, 
but  I  won't,  just  to  spite  thee  I" 

Dave  had  stopped  in  to  accompany  Hecla  back  to 
Burnham.  As  they  walked  home  Hecla  kept  affection 
ate  hold  of  her  brother's  arm.  She  forgot  her  own  grief 
in  sympathy  for  him.  He  had  been  drinking,  and  it 
gave  Hecla  a  pang  to  think  that  Dave  should  have  re 
sorted  to  so  ignoble  a  means  of  bearing  family  reverses. 
When  he  had  entered  Hetty's  parlor  that  evening  she 
had  been  struck  for  the  first  time  with  the  coarsened 
look  on  his  face  and  how  careless  he  had  grown  about 


SOUR   MISFORTUNE'S   BOOK  387 

his  clothes.  She  reproached  herself  as  she  reflected  on 
these  changes  in  her  brother.  Had  she  tried  to  help  him 
in  the  wisest  way?  Life  had  so  deepened  in  her  of  late 
that  she  saw  her  past  actions  in  a  different  light. 
Why  had  she  exercised  her  power  over  him  to  bring 
about  his  marriage  with  Clover,  when  she  might  have 
won  him  by  kinder.,  more  sisterly  persuasions  ? 

"Don't  despair,  Dave,"  she  said  to  him.  "I  know  what 
a  bitter  blow  all  this  has  been,  but  remember  you're 
young  and  strong.  You  have  your  life  before  you 
still.  Promise  me  you  won't  give  up !" 

"It's  easy  for  you  to  say  not  to  give  up,"  he  answered 
sullenly.  "What  chance  have  I  ever  had,  with  every 
body  down  on  me?  It  was  enough  to  discourage  one  the 
way  father  acted,  putting  you  and  Wentworth  over 
me.  If  one's  own  family  has  no  faith  in  you  how  can  you 
expect  other  people  to  have  any?" 

"I  always  believed  in  you,  Dave !" 

"If  you  did,  then  why  did  you  try  to  get  that  con 
ceited  husband  of  yours  to  take  charge  of  the  furnace  ?" 

*T)ave,  please  speak  of  Richard  with  more  respect!" 

"Well,  I'd  hardly  stand  up  for  him,,  considering  you're 
his  wife  only  in  name !" 

"Why  must  you  remind  me  of  that?  Have  you  no 
kindness,  David,  no  gentlemanliness  ?" 

She  bit  her  lips  to  keep  back  the  tears.  What  cruel 
things  her  brother  could  say !  Yet  was  there  not  enough 
trouble  to-night  without  quarreling? 

"You're  not  hurt?"  he  asked  in  rough  amends.  "I 
didn't  suppose  you  cared  that  much  for  him !" 

Didn't  care !  Yet  why  should  she  blame  her  brother, 
when  she  was  only  beginning  to  realize  how  much  her 


388  HECLA    SANDWITH 

heart  craved  the  tenderness  and  consideration  Richard 
had  shown  her  in  their  one  brief  year  of  wedded  life? 
What  had  she  not  borne  since  he  left  her  ?  The  crushing 
defeat  of  her  hopes  in  the  failure  and  sale  of  Hecla 
Furnace;  the  patronizing  pity  of  the  world  over  her 
troubles ;  and  Hetty's  unfeeling  remarks  and  the  offer  of 
her  old  dresses, — how  that  had  wounded  her !  And  then 
had  followed  the  triumphal  procession  of  the  new  iron 
master,  with  torches,  shouts  and  music  as  though  fate 
wished  her  to  taste  the  very  dregs  of  humiliation  and 
misery. 

"You  were  speaking  of  my  not  giving  up,"  Dave  went 
on.  "I  have  a  plan  in  my  head  which  I'm  positive  will 
make  my  fortune  if  you  help  me  out." 

"You  know  I  am  ready  to  do  anything  I  can  for  you, 
Dave  V  Hecla  spoke  eagerly.  She  was  depressed  about 
her  brother's  future,  and  it  cheered  her  that  he  was 
already  thinking  of  new  ways  and  means  to  support 
himself. 

"There  is  a  big  need  of  a  planing-mill  in  Dunkirk, 
and  I  was  thinking,  Hecla,  if  you'd  invest  some  capital 
in  the  scheme  we  might  put  one  up  on  the  old  place. 
The  meadow  stream  will  provide  the  necessary  power; 
we  can  dam  that  up.  And  the  black  walnuts'll  bring 
a  good  price  if  we  cut  them  down." 

Hecla  stopped  short  at  Dave's  proposition,  too  amazed 
for  a  moment  to  protest.  "Dam  up  the  stream,  cut  down 
the  grove,  and  spoil  Burnham!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why, 
David,  have  you  no  love  for  your  old  home  ?" 

"You  just  said  you'd  do  anything  you  could  for 
me,"  he  sneered,  "and  now  when  you  are  put  to  the 
test  you  cry  out!  The  planing-mill  will  be  a  splendid 


389 

thing  that  can't  help  benefiting  your  pocket  and  Jervis'. 
It's  what  Dunkirk  needs.  I  spoke  of  the  scheme  to  some 
business  men  and  they  highly  approved  of  it." 

"But,  Dave,  it  is  my  home.  How  can  you  even  speak 
of  it?" 

Yet  she  listened  as  he  went  on  talking  of  the  new 
venture  and  the  fortune  there  was  in  it  for  the  family. 

They  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  where  the  path  led 
over  the  meadow  to  the  house.  The  moon,  swimming 
in  the  deep  summer  night,  poured  down  its  beams  on 
the  wandering  brook,  changing  it  into  murmuring 
quicksilver ;  and  beyond  this,  hiding  the  house,  was  the 
stately  walnut  grove  wrapped  in  dreamful  shadow.  It 
was  a  scene  of  peaceful  beauty,  and  Hecla,  as  she  filled 
her  eyes  with  the  sight,  felt  herself  choke  at  the  thought 
of  this  supreme  sacrifice  Dave  demanded  of  her. 

"Dave,"  she  faltered,  "I  can't  discuss  this  any  more 
to-night.  I  must  think  about  it.  But  believe  that 
I  shall  do  all  I  can  justly  to  help  you.  You  will  come  in 
awhile?" 

"No,  Clover  is  expecting  me  home  early." 

Hecla  retained  her  brother's  hand.  "I  wish,"  she  said, 
"that  you  and  Clover  would  come  and  live  with  me, 
now  that  the  old  Forge  house  is  gone  with  the  rest  of 
the  property.  As  long  as  Jervis  and  I  have  a  roof  over 
our  heads,"  she  continued  sadly,  "it  is  yours  to  share 
with  us." 

"Clover  wouldn't  agree  to  it,  Hecla." 

"But,  Dave,  why  can  you  not  persuade  her?  Tell  her 
how  welcome  she'd  be.  Good-by!  Don't  come  any  far 
ther,  I  am  not  afraid.  And — and  I  shall  think  over 
what  you  propose." 


390'  HECLA    SAXDWITH 

They  parted,  and  Hecla  went  slowly  across  the  moon- 
blurred  meadow,  hearing  the  sharp  little  cries  of  the 
katydids  in  the  dew-wet  grass.  She  walked  wearily, 
looking  about  her,  noting  a  hundred  familiar  things. 
And  when  she  reached  the  graveled  driveway  leading 
through  the  grove,  with  quick  passion  she  flung  her 
arms  around  one  of  the  faithful  old  guardians  of  the 
house,  and  putting  her  lips  against  the  rough  bark, 
kissed  it  once  and  once  again. 

Had  life  no  pity  on  her?  Was  she  to  drink  to  the 
bitter  lees  the  cup  of  punishment  for  the  wrong  she 
had  done  her  husband  ?  Her  father's  furnace,  the  cause 
of  her  first  misunderstanding  with  Eichard,  had  passed 
out  of  her  hands.  And  now  Burnham,  which  had  been 
her  father's  pride,  the  home  she  had  clung  to  when  her 
husband  had  bidden  her  come  to  him,  was  she  to  live 
to  see  its  ruin  ?  "Was  this  sacrifice  to  be  part  of  her  pen 
ance  for  her  failure  to  give  happiness  to  the  man  she 
had  married  and  lost? 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE   VINEYARD   OF   NABOTII 

Hecla  was  on  her  way  to  Dunkirk  one  Wednesday 
morning,  when  she  met  her  Uncle  Gideon  Sandwith. 

She  had  not  seen  him  to  speak  to  since  his  estrange 
ment  with  Hetty,  and  she  was  a  good  deal  surprised 
that  he  greeted  her  apparently  without  resentment  for 
her  share  in  the  quarrel.  Gideon  Sandwith  was  con 
siderably  altered  in  looks,  and  she  wondered  as  she  per 
ceived  how  he  had  aged  whether  he  missed  his  niece 
and  regretted  the  misunderstanding  that  had  caused 
her  to  desert  his  home. 

He  informed  her  that  he  had  been  confined  to  bed 
for  a  month  with  rheumatism  and  that  he  had  left  the 
house  for  the  first  time  that  morning  to  attend  Meet 
ing. 

"Thee  is  not  going?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  she  replied  indifferently.  "I  am  on  my  way  to 
Wentworth's  office." 

"Thee  never  was  a  Friend  at  heart,  Hecla,"  he  said 
rebukingly,  "and  I  have  heard  thy  husband  is  a  free 
thinker.  It  is  well  that  he  and  thee  are  parted." 

"My  husband  is  a  better  man  than  many  who  profess 
religion,  Uncle  Gideon,"  she  returned  quickly.  "As  for 
me,  it  is  true:  I  never  was  good  like  Harmony." 

391 


392  HECLA'   SANDWITH 

She  saw  his  face  harden  at  the  mention  of  Har 
mony's  name. 

"David  still  owes  me  money/'  he  said  harshly.  "I 
have  not  pressed  him,  but  now  the  Works  are  sold  I  hope 
he  will  pay  me." 

"David  will  pay  all  his  debts/'  Hecla  proudly  an 
swered. 

She  looked  after  him  curiously  as  he  passed  on,  lean 
ing  upon  his  ivory-topped  cane,  and  she  asked  herself 
what  happiness  the  sick  old  man  found  in  his  wealth 
now  he  had  forced  Hetty,  the  only  element  of  youth  and 
brightness  there  had  been  in  his  life,  from  his  doors. 
Hecla  saw  him  turn  up  the  Meeting  House  path  and 
she  could  not  help  thinking  that  religion  came  near  to 
being  a  mockery  in  Gideon  Sandwith's  case.  And  he 
had  spoken  of  her  husband  disparagingly  as  an  atheist ! 

Gideon  Sand  with,  on  reaching  the  little  gray  Meet 
ing  House,  took  his  accustomed  seat.  He  waited  some 
time  in  expectation  of  other  arrivals,  but  no  one  came. 
There  was  dust  on  the  benches,  telling  of  the  janitor's 
neglect.  The  stoves  had  not  been  lighted  and  the  damp 
weather  touched  his  thin  blood.  But  he  sat  on,  with  his 
hands  clasped,  his  thumbs  mechanically  lapping  each 
other  alternately,  and  his  face  fixed  in  its  habitual  hard 
angles. 

At  last  the  door  was  pushed  open  and  in  the  yellow 
square  of  light  that  fell  on  the  inner  gloom  he  saw  the 
slight  figure  of  Harmony  silently  enter.  Seating  herself 
on  the  bench  on  the  women's  side,  where  she  always  sat, 
she  closed  her  eyes  in  prayerful  meditation. 

Harmony  had  sought  the  peaceful  Meeting  House  this 
Fourth  Day  morning,  because  her  heart  was  troubled. 


THE    VINEYARD    OF    KfABOTH         393 

During  the  months  following  the  departure  of  Kich- 
ard  Hallett  from  Dunkirk  Hecla  had  never  ceased  to 
speak  praisingly  of  John  Donovan  as  a  man  she  had 
misjudged  and  now  respected  highly.  The  young  rector 
himself  had  never  referred  to  their  old  relationship, 
but  Harmony's  instinct  told  her  how  devotedly  he  still 
loved  her.  She  feared  that  she  was  weakening  in  her 
spirit  of  sacrifice  and  tried  to  find  renewal  of  strength 
in  silent  communion  with  God  in  the  little  Meeting 
House,  where  the  words  of  Benjamin  Truelove  had  so 
moved  her.  A  resolve  had  been  forming  in  her  bosom 
and  she  had  come  to-day  to  see  if  it  would  receive 
anointment  of  Heaven.  It  was  on  an  altar  not  built 
with  hands  that  she  would  offer  again  the  gift  of  sacri 
ficed  earthly  love. 

As  the  hour  slowly  passed  in  silence  Gideon  Sand- 
with  glanced  furtively  at  her  from  under  his  heavy 
brows;  but  Harmony  was  unconscious  of  his  looks  and 
the  hatred  that  darkened  them.  She  was  a  picture  of 
purity  as  she  sat  on  in  the  holy  quiet.  She  was  dressed 
in  gray,  and  her  delicate  hands  were  folded  meekly  on 
her  lap;  her  pale,  earnest  face  was  half -hidden  within 
the  oval  of  her  plain  bonnet,  which  was  the  badge  of  her 
renunciation  of  the  world — the  cross  her  uncle  had  so 
cruelly  pressed  on  her  shrinking  young  shoulders. 

The  membership  of  the  Meeting  had  yearly  grown 
less  and  Gideon  Sandwith  was  aware  that  to  the  last 
worshiper  the  property  would  fall.  He  knew  also  how 
valuable  it  was  in  the  eyes  of  the  trustees  of  the  Acad 
emy  standing  on  the  hill  behind;  with  what  willing 
ness  a  high  price  would  be  paid  that  recess  grounds 
might  be  secured  for  Dunkirk  youth  with  bat  and  ball. 


394  HECLA    SANDWITH 

Gideon  had  on  several  occasions  been  approached  on  the 
subject  of  a  purchase  of  at  least  part  of  the  grounds 
surrounding  the  Meeting  House.  Without  analyzing 
his  reason  for  doing  so,  Gideon  Sandwith,  as  he  sat  on 
the  elders'  bench  on  First  Days  and  Fourth  Days,  had 
begun  counting  the  faces  that  fronted  him.  It  became 
a  habit  to  count  the  faces  over  and  over. 

He  had  beheld  worshiper  after  worshiper  disappear. 
His  brother  Joshua  had  died;  then  Pentecost  was  car 
ried  to  the  old  Sandwith  burying-ground  on  the  top  of 
the  pine-shaded  hill  overlooking  Dunkirk.  On  his  de 
cease  his  wife  Deborah  had  returned  to  her  Philadelphia 
home.  Such  outsiders  as  had  occasionally  been  attract 
ed  to  the  Meeting  had  gradually  abandoned  the  practice 
of  coming. 

And  now  only  Harmony  and  himself  were  left. 

Gideon  never  admitted  to  his  conscience  that  he 
coveted  the  old  Sandwith  Meeting  House;  never  ac 
knowledged  that  it  was  as  Naboth's  vineyard  to  him. 
When  he  opposed  Harmony's  membership  he  had  told 
himself  it  was  from  the  highest  of  motives ;  that  she  was 
unfit  to  embrace  Quakerism.  He  had  felt  toward  her  ap 
plication  as  he  had  toward  others  he  had  discouraged. 

But  Harmony  had  become  a  Friend  in  spite  of  his 
counsel,  and  as  he  glanced  at  her  pure,  prayerful  face 
thwarted  greed  bit  his  heart  like  acid. 

At  last  the  hour  lapsed  and  Harmony  rose  from  her 
seat.  Her  face  shone  with  the  light  of  new  Christian 
resolve.  For  a  moment  she  looked  hesitatingly  at  the 
stern  hard  figure  on  the  elders'  bench  then  she  ap 
proached  shyly. 

"Uncle  Gideon,"  she  said,  "I  wish  to  bid  thee  fare- 


395 

well.  I  have  decided  to  leave  Dunkirk  and  make  my 
home  in  Philadelphia  with  Aunt  Deborah/' 

"Thee  gives  up  thy  membership  in  the  Meeting  here, 
then  ?" 

"There  is  no  Meeting  any  more,"  she  answered  a 
little  sadly.  "Thee  and  I  are  all  that  are  left  now. 
Yes,  I  shall  join  the  Twelfth  Street  Meeting  that  Aunt 
Deborah  attends." 

"Fare  thce  well,"  he  muttered  in  his  harsh  voice, 
"and  God  be  with  thee." 

As  Harmony  reached  the  Meeting  House  door  she 
paused  and  looked  around  her.  Her  eyes  dwelt  linger- 
ingly  on  the  rows  of  unpainted  deal  benches,  with  their 
scattered  cushions  of  sage-colored  moire  antique;  on 
the  old  goblet-shaped  wood  stoves,  with  their  crooked 
pipes;  on  the  unpapered  walls  of  refreshing  whiteness. 
The  light,  coming  through  the  slats  of  the  half-rolled- 
up  green  Venetian  shades,  gave  a  holy  sweetness  to 
everything ;  and  to  all  that  she  gazed  on  Harmony  bade 
a  long  farewell  with  aching  heart.  What  a  refuge  the 
little  Meeting  House  had  been  in  times  of  trouble; 
what  a  harbor  of  calm  from  spiritual  storms!  She  was 
going  away  from  the  scenes  of  her  girlhood.  When  she 
returned  would  not  the  hoary  old  mountain  pines  be 
spreading  their  wings  of  peace  over  a  deserted  house  of 
worship  ? 

Gideon  remained  where  she  had  left  him,  a  stern  fig 
ure  in  the  half-gloom  of  the  empty  building.  So  the 
property  was  his  at  last — the  property  for  which  he  had 
waited  half  a  century!  Harmony  was  gone  like  the 
many  others  he  had  sat  out  since  the  passion  to  possess 


396  HECLA    SANDWITH 

this  little  monument  of  family  faith,  had  first  taken 
root  and  waxed  strong  in  his  heart. 

How  many  had  there  heen? 

Gideon  Sandwith  began  counting  the  faces  he  had 
watched  through  the  long  years;  and  as  he  did  so  his 
square  hard  thumbs  lapping  each  other  alternately  kept 
tally.  He  counted  them  over  once,  then  again,  and  still 
again;  and  as  he  counted  he  seemed  to  see  them  faintly 
in  their  accustomed  places.  There  was  Hannah  Sand 
with,  his  aged  mother,  who  had  ridden  up  to  the  wilder 
ness  of  central  Pennsylvania  in  her  seventieth  year  to 
settle  there  with  her  sons;  there  was  his  gentle  Cousin 
Isaac,  wrapped  in  his  soft  Shetland  shawl  and  slowly 
passing  his  hand  over  his  long  white  lock  of  hair;  there 
was  Joshua,  Pentecost,  Deborah — 

He  saw  them  all  more  and  more  distinctly  as  he 
counted,  lapping  one  hard  square  thumb  over  the  other 
in  his  accustomed  machine-like  way:  Hannah  Sand 
with,  his  aged  mother,  his  Cousin  Isaac,  Joshua,  Pente 
cost,  Deborah,  Harmony — 

There  they  sat  in  their  places  gazing  at  him,  gazing 
reproachfulty,  accusingly.  From  one  face  to  another 
his  eyes  wandered,  and  at  last  he  could  bear  their  look 
no  more ;  and  he  bowed  his  head  in  his  hands. 

And  Gideon  Sandwith  knew  that  they  would  be  sit 
ting  there  always  as  they  sat  there  now,  the  worshipers 
that  had  returned  to  forbid  the  desecration  of  the  old 
Meeting  House,  to  interpose  themselves  between  him 
and  his  miser's  greed. 

At  last  he  raised  his  eyes  and  behind  the  row  of  misty 
faces  he  saw  darkening  the  square  of  light  that  came 


THE    VINEYARD    OF    NABOTH        '397 

through  the  doorway  the  figure  of  Benjamin  Truelove. 
He  was  standing  there  on  the  threshold  with  one  hand 
raised,  like  Nathan  before  David. 

And  Gideon  Sandwith  heard  in  the  silence  the  accus 
ing  words : 

"Thou  art  the  man !" 


CHAPTER   XVI 

PAST  ALL  DISHONOR 

When  Harmony  told  Hecla  of  her  determination  to 
leave  Dunkirk  and  live  in  Philadelphia  with  her  Aunt 
Deborah,  Hecla  had  said  nothing  to  dissuade  her. 
Anxious  as  she  now  was  to  have  her  sister  wed  Mr. 
Donovan,  she  recognized  how  sincerely  Harmony  was 
following  the  dictates  of  her  conscience  in  going  away. 
Still  it  was  a  deep  disappointment  to  her  that  she  was 
unable  to  repair  the  wrong  she  had  done  the  rector's 
love  by  so  bitterly  opposing  his  early  intimacy  with 
Harmony.  It  not  only  weighed  on  her  heart,  but  op 
pressed  her  with  a  sense  of  life's  sternness.  Were  one's 
acts  so  irrevocable?  she  asked  herself.  Was  one  com 
pelled  to  watch  the  evil  seed  sprout,  wax  into  a  tree 
and  bear  fruit  without  checking  the  fatal  growth? 
Looking  back  upon  the  past  it  seemed  to  Hecla  that 
her  life  had  been  one  tissue  of  mistakes ;  that  she  had 
been  destined  to  wreck  the  happiness  of  every  one  about 
her.  Yet  in  all  she  had  done  she  had  been  governed  by 
what  she  believed  to  be  high  principles  and  the  point 
ings  of  duty. 

She  had  separated  Harmony  and  Mr.  Donovan;  she 
had  coerced  Dave  into  a  marriage  that  had  helped  to 
drag  him  down ;  she  had  caused  her  husband  to  abandon 

398 


PAST    ALL    DISHONOR  399 

his  ambitions  on  the  eve  of  success;  and  Wentworth — 
had  it  not  been  for  her,  he  might  have  married  and 
been  happy!  As  Hecla  pondered  these  things  she  lost 
all  confidence  in  her  own  strength  and  began  to  yearn 
as  she  had  never  done  since  the  tragic  death  of  her 
mother  for  the  consolation  and  support  Harmony  found 
in  religion. 

With  Harmony's  departure  for  Philadelphia  Hecla 
was  left  at  Burnham  with  only  Jervis.  She  had  hoped 
that  Dave  would  make  his  home  with  her,  as  she  had 
urged  him  to  do,  but  Clover,  who  had  always  shown  her 
independence  of  her  husband's  family,  thinking  that 
they  disapproved  of  her,  could  not  be  persuaded  to 
agree  to  the  arrangement.  Hecla  felt  keenly  her  loneli 
ness,  but  she  resolutely  hid  it  from  others  out  of  pride 
and  the  half -conviction  that  she  merited  such  deserts  of 
fortune. 

Dave  had  continued  to  urge  his  sister  to  consent  to 
the  scheme  of  putting  up  a  planing-mill  at  Burnham; 
and  Hecla,  after  consulting  Wentworth,  who  could  not 
but  approve  of  what  business  men  in  Dunkirk  con 
sidered  a  promising  undertaking,  made  up  her  mind 
to  the  sacrifice  of  her  home.  She  told  herself  if  she 
must  choose  between  two  ills  it  was  better  to  have  Burn- 
ham  ruined  rather  than  David.  She  recognized  that  her 
brother's  complaints  on  the  way  home  from  Hetty's 
were  not  unreasonable;  it  was  what  she  had  often  her 
self  felt  regarding  Dave,  and  it  had  been  her  strongest 
motive  in  upholding  him  against  the  aspersions  cast 
upon  his  ability  by  his  relatives.  He  was  without  means, 
for  he  had  honorably,  she  proudly  remembered,  sold  his 
farm  to  satisfy  his  debtors.  The  failure  of  the  Works 


400  HECLA   SANDWITH 

had  bitterly  discouraged  him,  and  it  was  her  place  to 
revive  his  confidence  in  himself  by  showing  her  faith 
in  him  and  his  new  ventures.  And  in  making  the  pain 
ful  sacrifice  she  determined  that  neither  David  nor  any 
one  else  should  know  how  much  it  cost  her. 

Her  suffering  proved,  however,  to  be  almost  more 
than  she  could  bear  because  of  this  stoic  silence  when 
the  time  came  to  hew  down  the  beloved  walnut  grove. 
Still,  kindly  sympathy  with  her  was  not  wanting. 
Wentworth  did  what  he  could  to  brighten  her.  Lucia 
besought  her  to  live  with  her  during  the  building  of 
the  dam,  and  Ehoda  Markham  likewise  invited  her  to 
make  her  a  long  visit  at  Moshannon  Hall.  But  to  these 
and  other  offers  Hecla  returned  answer  that  she  would 
not  leave  Burnham ;  that  it  would  ever  be  home  to  her, 
no  matter  what  changes  came  to  it. 

The  work  took  several  slowly-passing  months,  though 
Dave  endeavored  to  hasten  it  on.  When  the  ax  was  laid 
to  the  first  tree  Hecla's  heart  well-nigh  failed  her.  She 
tried  to  interest  herself  in  household  employ.  She  read 
to  Jervis.  She  played  on  her  neglected  spinet  and  sang 
the  old  ballads  her  father  had  loved.  But  nothing  could 
distract  her  mind  from  what  was  taking  place  outside 
the  house.  The  echo  of  the  chopping  reached  her  ears 
as  she  wandered  restlessly  from  room  to  room ;  and  each 
time  one  of  the  giant  bodies  crashed  to  ground  it  seemed 
to  fall  crushingly  across  her  heart.  She  could  not  bear 
to  look  upon  her  old  friends  who  seemed  to  stretch  out 
their  great  arms  toward  her  praying  for  mercy.  She 
knew  them  all,  loving  them  for  their  greatness  of  girth 
or  for  the  grave  beauty  of  their  spreading  boughs ;  and 
now  they  were  doomed  to  death  she  felt  it  like  a  human 


PAST   ALL   DISHONOR  401 

loss.  As  they  fell  one  by  one,  like  scarred  old  veterans  on 
a  battle-field,  they  seemed  to  leave  her  citadel  bare  to 
the  world.  Benjamin  Truelove's  prophecy  that  had  been 
haunting  her  ears  of  late  with  solemn  insistence  seemed 
now  indeed  fulfilled.  Her  father's  furnace  was  in 
stranger  hands;  Burnham  stood  stripped  and  beg 
gared  of  what  had  been  its  pride  and  beauty.  Hecla  was 
glad  that  her  father  had  not  lived  to  behold  the  ruin 
of  his  home  and  the  gradual  wasting  away  of  the  ample 
fortune  he  had  bequeathed  his  children. 

Walking  down  the  garden  paths  Hecla  saw  the  scat 
tered  nests  of  the  doves  that  had  returned  innumerable 
springtimes  to  their  lodging  in  the  walnut  limbs.  The 
flying  squirrels  so  often  watched  as  they  dropped  like 
autumn  leaves  from  the  branches  in  the  moonlight, 
routed  from  their  holes  by  the  noise  of  ax  and  scream 
of  saw,  fled  in  alarm,  chattering  execrations  on  their 
invaders.  The  voice  of  the  garden  rose  in  lament  and 
protest  at  the  sacrilege  that  was  being  done  until  Hecla 
almost  felt  blood-guiltiness  on  her  conscience. 

The  building  of  the  dam  was  a  slower  tragedy.  Some 
fear  had  been  expressed  among  the  townsfolk  of  danger 
to  Dunkirk  through  such  a  body  of  water  being  dammed 
up  in  such  close  proximity,  and  David  had  met  this  sen 
timent  by  vowing  he  would  build  the  breastworks  so 
strong  and  wide  a  team  of  oxen  could  be  driven  over  it. 

The  forge-folk  took  great  interest  in  the  new  enter 
prise;  and  Mog  Pickle,  Joe  the  jigger-boss  and  others 
came  out  to  watch  the  dam  being  constructed. 

One  day  Hecla,  passing  by  where  the  work  was  going 
on,  saw  Solomon  Stitch  gazing  at  the  scene  and  shak 
ing  his  head  in  his  old  lugubrious  fashion. 


402  HECLA    SANDWITH 

"Man  is  born  unto  trouble,  Miss  Heckly,  ez  the  Good 
Book  sez,"  he  remarked  in  accents  nasal  as  an  accordion, 
<fbut  Ah  hadn't  thott  to  see  Joshua's  seed  a-feelen'  the 
Lord's  hand  so  heavy  upon  'em.  The  Big  House  hain't 
looken'  much  like  it  useter.  Joshua  was  mighty  sott  on 
his  home." 

"It  is  changed,  Solomon,"  Hecla  answered  bravely, 
"but  I  love  it  just  as  much  as  ever." 

"Wall,  it's  a  true  word  o'  Holy  Writ,  ain't  it,  thet 
Many  waiters  ~kin  not  quench  love;  neither  Jcin  the 
floods  drown  it  ?  Dave  hez  put  up  a  fust-rate  f arbric  and 
folks  needn't  hev  no  fear  of  it  busten'.  Thet  is,  ef  no  un 
don't  drop  no  live  silver  in  the  dam  out  a  spite." 

It  was  an  old  superstition  of  the  county  that  a  little 
quicksilver  was  a  powerful  agent  in  eating  away  a  dam 
and  it  was  a  favorite  means  of  gratifying  a  "grudge"  to 
employ  it  secretly  to  that  end. 

David  found  it  convenient  to  stay  at  Burnham  dur 
ing  the  building  of  the  dam,  as  he  and  Clover  had  not 
yet  moved  in  town  from  the  farm.  His  presence  in  the 
house  was  Hecla's  consolation  at  this  painful  time,  for 
it  was  long  since  she  had  seen  so  much  of  her  brother. 
It  was  like  the  old  days  of  affectionate  intimacy  before 
Hecla  had  left  for  boarding-school  and  Dave  had  leased 
his  father's  furnace  and  taken  up  his  abode  at  Mrs. 
Littlepage's.  It  pleased  her  that  he  fell  quickly  into  the 
habit  of  calling  Burnham  home,  and  she  labored  to  have 
him  enjoy  every  comfort  within  her  power  to  give  while 
he  was  under  her  roof.  She  ordered  his  favorite  dishes 
to  be  prepared  and  showed  him  a  hundred  small  proofs 
of  her  sisterly  thoughtfulness.  One  thing  only  marred 
this  old-time  intercourse  with  her  brother,  and  this  was 


PAST    ALL    DISHONOR  403 

the  evidence  she  had  of  Dave's  weakness  for  drink.  She 
dreaded  the  nights  that  he  went  to  town,  for  on  sev 
eral  occasions  he  had  returned  intoxicated  to  a  degree 
that  made  it  necessary  for  her  to  call  in  Hamp  to  help 
him  to  bed.  The  disappointment  in  these  lapses  of  her 
brother  011  the  eve  of  new  enterprises  added  to  her  de 
pression,  but  desperate  as  she  sometimes  felt  she  never 
completely  lost  her  faith  in  Dave  nor  wavered  in  her 
devotion.  Hecla  told  herself  she  would  save  him  and 
that  she  would  do  it — not  by  exercising  harshly  her 
power  as  when  she  caused  his  marriage  to  Clover,  but 
by  redoubling  her  kindness,  by  surrounding  him  with 
sympathy  and  love.  She  never  alluded  to  the  nights  of 
anxious  waiting;  never  pleaded  with  him  to  reform  his 
habits,  well  aware  how  he  resented  what  he  called 
"Hecla's  preaching";  but  in  wiser,  tactful  ways  tried 
to  win  him  to  manlier  resolves.  And  her  reward  was 
that  Dave's  excesses  occurred  at  longer  intervals; 
whereon  she  took  heart,  saying  that  patience  would  con 
quer  in  the  end. 

The  breastworks  were  finally  finished  and  the  stream, 
checked  in  its  flow,  began  flooding  the  meadow,  creep 
ing  up  the  sloping  grounds  toward  the  house.  To  every 
inch  of  sacred  soil  thus  devoured  by  the  muddy  tide 
Hecla  bade  farewell.  Over  more  and  more  of  her  well- 
cared-for  garden  the  waters  spread,  hiding  the  stumps 
of  the  sacrificed  trees  that  stood  like  monuments  to  lives 
forfeited  that  the  family  fortune  might  be  retrieved. 
So  changed  was  everything  that  Hecla  could  hardly  be 
lieve  that  this  was  her  old  home.  Only  a  grudging  strip 
of  soil  was  left  by  the  water-line  and  to  reach  this  limit 
took  several  days, 


404  HECLA    SANDWITH 

The  making  of  the  dam  was  a  matter  of  wondering 
interest  to  Little  Pitcher.  To  his  questions  Hecla  had 
given  such  answers  as  seemed  best  calculated  to  hearten 
the  child.  Now  as  the  brown  flood  crept  up,  cruelly  slow 
yet  cruelly  fast,  she  taxed  her  memory  for  tales  to  tell 
him,  pleasing  him  by  reciting  the  German  legend  she 
had  learned  at  Lititz  of  the  city  in  the  sea,  whose 
magical  chiming  bells  could  be  heard  by  fishermen  at 
sunset  as  they  drew  in  their  nets. 

It  was  the  third  day  of  the  shutting  of  the  gates  and 
the  dam  was  almost  filled.  For  three  days  Hecla  had  not 
seen  her  brother.  He  had  gone  in  town  after  supper 
saying  he  would  be  back  early,  for  there  were  matters  to 
discuss  in  connection  with  the  planing-mill  and  papers 
to  sign.  Hecla  had  vainly  waited  for  him  until  after 
midnight.  The  next  day  did  not  bring  him  nor  yet  the 
following  night,  and  Hecla  was  divided  between  appre 
hension  and  the  hope  that  he  had  merely  gone  to  the 
farm.  Not  wishing  to  distress  Clover  if  Dave  were  not 
after  all  with  her  Hecla  refrained  from  sending  Hamp 
to  inquire.  So  she  waited,  more  and  more  sadly  con 
vinced  that  Dave  had  again  yielded  to  his  weakness  for 
drink — had  fallen  in  with  old  companions  at  the  Red 
Lion,  tempting  him  no  doubt  by  proposing  to  drink  a 
glass  to  the  success  of  his  new  business  ventures. 

Hecla  went  to  bed  with  a  heavy  heart.  She  slept  rest 
lessly,  starting  awake  several  times  from  a  dream  in 
which  she  heard  the  tolling  of  bells  from  the  bottom  of 
the  dam — the  memory  of  the  solemn  sounds  that  had 
fallen  on  her  ear  the  day  of  the  street-riot  mixing  with 
the  tales  she  had  told  Little  Pitcher.  Finally,  as  the  day 
was  dawning,  she  rose  from  her  bed,  unable  longer  to 


PAST   ALL   DISHONOR  405 

sleep,  and  drawn  by  the  fascination  we  feel  for  what  we 
most  dread  to  see,  she  threw  open  the  shutters  of  her 
window  and  looked  forth. 

The  outer  world  was  still  drearily  leaden-hued — a 
gray  sky  brooding  over  a  turbid,  mist-hidden  bosom  of 
water  that  now  filled  the  space  between  the  house  and 
the  hills  beyond. 

As  Hecla's  gaze  wandered  over  the  dam  she  thought 
of  the  words  Solomon  Stitch  had  quoted :  M any  waters 
can  not  quencli  love;  neither  can  the  floods  drown  it. 
Yes,  changes  made  no  difference;  she  still  loved  her 
home,  shorn  though  it  was  of  its  stately  beauty.  The 
sacrifice  had  been  in  a  good  cause.  It  was  providing  her 
brother  with  a  new  start  in  life,  where  he  might  redeem 
himself  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 

But  would  he  succeed?  Was  there  any  real  hope  of 
Dave's  ever  being  different  from  what  he  was,  and  was 
she  destined  to  see  the  new  planing-mill,  for  which  she 
had  suffered  the  desecration  of  her  father's  home,  fail  as 
the  Works  had  failed  ? 

Dave's  three  days'  absence  had  chilled  her  confidence, 
stolen  hope  from  her  breast.  She  looked  down  on  the 
water  veiled  in  the  steaming  mists  of  dawn.  There  was 
a  breeze  stirring,  and  this,  carding  the  fleece-like  fog, 
changed  it  into  phantom  shapes  that  swayed  and  circled 
in  slow  fantastic  measures.  A  feeling  of  foreboding 
grew  as  she  watched — a  presentiment  that  ill  destiny 
had  not  yet  fulfilled  itself  in  her  life;  that  fate  still 
planned  to  make  her  suffer. 

A  spirit  of  restlessness  possessed  her,  and  making  a 
quick  toilet,  she  stole  down  stairs  and  opened  the  heavy 
front  door. 


406  HECLA    SANDWITH 

Not  more  than  a  stone's  throw  from  the  porch  spread 
the  turbid,  dull-red  flood.  Under  cover  of  night  the 
stopped-up  stream  had  reached  the  high-water  mark; 
the  dam  was  full  now.  The  breeze  had  risen  and  Hecla 
felt  its  dampness  on  her  face.  Slowly  she  walked  down 
to  the  water's  edge.  Here  and  there  the  current  had  set 
and  already  the  ceaseless  scour  had  begun.  At  Hecla's 
feet  an  eddy  circled.  The  clammy  and  oppressive  mist 
still  haunted  the  dam  which  ebbed  and  flowed,  breaking 
on  the  garden's  grassy  slope  in  minute  whitecaps.  The 
fresh  air  from  the  distant  shore  swayed  the  mist  aside, 
opening  up  a  vista.  Not  far  out  wind  and  current  played 
with  something — a  solider  bulk  than  water — just  sub 
merged:  an  object  blurring  for  a  few  narrow  feet  the 
surface  of  the  dam.  The  woman's  eyes  traveling  the 
vista  found  this,  rested  on  it  vaguely.  Whatever  it  was, 
momently  it  floated  closer — an  oblong  dark  shadow 
groping  among  the  drowned  stumps  of  the  sacrificed 
black  walnuts.  Hecla  noted  it  curiously.  As  it  drifted 
in,  the  scour  took  hold  and  the  thing  circled,  slowly, 
passively.  But  the  shoreward  set  was  stronger  than  these 
idling  forces.  Momentum  carried  it  on.  Ten  feet  far 
ther  it  went  aground.  Waves  rose  and  fell.  The  bulk 
lay  stationary  for  a  while.  Then  gradually  it  shifted, 
and  there  came  into  view  out  of  the  water  a  sodden 
water-logged  cloth  sleeve  bent  on  a  rigid  arm.  Then  a 
claw-like  hand  obtruded — the  fingers  clutching  empty 
air.  The  current  still  frolicked  with  the  toy  it  had 
found,  rolling  it  about  now  that  it  could  no  longer 
drive  it  toward  the  shore.  And  so  the  face  was,  after  a 
moment,  brought  to  view — the  staring  face,  with  the  hair 
matted  on  the  brow,  of  David ! 


PAST    ALL    DISHONOR  40? 

But  Hecla  had  already  guessed.  She  understood  it 
all;  why  David  had  not  returned  that  first  night  she 
had  waited  for  him.  He  had  been  drinking  in  town 
and  in  crossing  the  bridge  to  Burnham  made  a  misstep 
in  the  dark  and  had  fallen  into  the  water. 

There  the  body  had  lain  for  three  days. 

And  now  the  dam  was  delivering  it  to  Hecla. 

As  she  stood  transfixed,  peering  at  her  brother's  dead 
face,  the  sun  rose  redly  over  the  hills  scattering  the 
mist. 

At  the  news  of  her  brother's  death  Harmony  returned 
to  Burnham.  Hecla's  grief  had  completely  prostrated 
her,  and  Harmony's  office  was  both  that  of  nurse  and 
comforter. 

She  confessed  to  Hecla  that  the  thought  of  her  loneli 
ness  had  weighed  so  heavily  upon  her  conscience  she  had 
found  no  peace  in  her  Philadelphia  sojourn.  "Thee  re 
members  what  thee  once  told  me,  Hecla ;  that  thee  had 
come  to  see  that  the  best  way  of  doing  one's  duty  in  life 
was  to  make  other  people  happy,"  she  said  to  her.  "I 
recognize  how  selfish  I  have  been;  that  I  have  thought 
too  much  of  my  own  salvation,  too  little  of  the  happi 
ness  of  those  around  me."  Hecla  thought  of  Harmony's 
supreme  opportunity.  "Then,  why  don't  you  make  Mr. 
Donovan  happy?"  she  said.  "He  is  still  waiting  for 
you!"  "Ah,  Hecla,"  was  the  answer,  "that  is  still  my 
spiritual  problem;  thee  knows  if  it  had  not  been  for 
John  I  should  never  have  left  thee  as  I  did." 

One  day  Harmony  was  passing  along  the  road  skirt 
ing  the  high  stone  wall  of  the  Sandwith  Meeting  House 
yard  when  she  heard  a  rich  voice  reciting  the  words : 


408  HECLA    SANDWITH 

tfO  my  dove,  thai  art  in  the  clefts  of  the  rock,  in  the 
secret  places  of  the  stairs,  let  me  see  thy  countenance, 
let  me  hear  thy  voice;  for  sweet  is  thy  voice,  and  thy 
countenance  is  comely" 

There  was  something  so  rapt,  so  moving,  in  the 
rhythmic  rise  and  fall  of  the  sentences  that  Harmony 
paused  and  the  thought  of  John  Donovan  filled  her 
heart  with  painful  sweetness. 

There  was  silence ;  then  she  heard  the  voice  again : 

"Come  with  me  from  Lebanon,  my  spouse,  with  me 
from  Lebanon:  look  from  the  top  of  Amana,  from  the 
top  of  Shenir  and  Hermon,  from  the  lions'  dens,  from 
the  mountains  of  the  leopards." 

Harmony  went  on  slowly  until  she  came  to  the  rusty 
iron  wicket  that  led  into  the  Meeting  House  ground.  It 
was  ajar  and  Harmony,  glancing  within,  saw  pacing 
under  the  shadow  of  the  pines  a  man  in  Quaker  dress 
whom  she  recognized  as  Benjamin  Truelove.  His  face 
wore  a  happy  smile  as  he  continued : 

"Behold  tliou  art  fair,  my  love;  behold,  thou  art  fair; 
thou  hast  doves'  eyes — 

Here  the  young  seer's  glance  fell  on  the  figure  of 
Harmony  in  her  beaver  bonnet  and  gray  mantle  stand 
ing  at  the  half -open  wicket. 

With  an  exclamation  of  joy  he  came  forward  and 
grasping  her  hands  gazed  in  the  girl's  chestnut  eyes. 

"Harmony,"  he  said,  his  looks  radiant  as  the  bride 
groom  of  the  Canticles,  "the  Spirit  hath  led  thee 
hither." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "it  is  of  the  Lord's  ordering;  I 
have  prayed  that  thee  might  come  again  to  Dunkirk.  I 
have  had  great  wish  to  see  thee." 


PAST    ALL   DISHONOB  409 

He  still  held  her  hands  in  his  and  at  her  words  his 
gaze  fed  the  more  ardently  on  her  sweet  face. 

"Thee  knows/'  she  faltered,  "it  was  through  thee  I 
was  drawn  to  God  and  renounced  earthly  love.  But 
sometimes  I  feel  that  spiritual  peace  can  not  be  pur 
chased  at  the  price  of  another's  happiness." 

"Harmony,"  he  said,  "thou  mayst  open  thy  mind  to 
me  without  fear.  From  our  first  meeting  I  had  a  great 
draught  of  love  for  thee,  and  thou  hast  heen  to  me  ever 
since  like  the  sweet  influences  of  the  evening  star. 
Speak,  dear  heart." 

"Does  thee  think,"  she  asked  him,  "that  I  should  do 
wrong  to  marry  ?" 

"Nay"  he  answered,  "is  it  not  written,  Marriage  is 
honorable  in  all?" 

"But,"  she  murmured,  "it  is  also  said,  He  that  is 
married  careth  for  the  things  that  are  of  the  world.'' 

"It  is  not  so  of  them  that  are  wed  in  the  Lord,"  the 
young  seer  answered.  Then  as  if  a  vision  were  given 
him  of  his  own  and  Harmony's  nuptial  happiness,  his 
eyes  shone,  and  he  repeated  with  his  golden  voice  the 
words  of  the  hundred  and  twenty-eighth  psalm,  begin 
ning,  Blessed  is  every  one  that  feareth  the  Lord;  that 
walJceth  in  His  ways. 

Harmony  listened  with  downcast  looks  and  beating 
heart;  and  after  he  had  finished  she  broke  the  sweet 
silence  by  saying : 

"There  is  one  thing  more  I  would  ask  thee.  Does  thee 
think  a  difference  of  religion  should  keep  us  apart?" 

"A  difference  of  religion,  dear  heart?" 

"I  mean,"  she  shyly  said,  "that  I  love  one  who  «  not 
a  Friend." 


410  HECLA   SANDWITH 

The  joyous  light  in  the  preacher's  face  faded.  For  a 
while  his  spirit  was  too  weighed  down  by  Harmony's 
confession  of  her  love  for  another  to  permit  of  speech. 
He  had  come  to  Dunkirk  confident  of  Harmony's  love. 
Ever  since  his  first  meeting  with  her  at  Joshua  Sand- 
with's  table  he  had  kept  her  image  in  his  heart.  He  had 
been  secretly  drawn  to  her  then,  and  every  time  he  had 
seen  her  afterward  had  strengthened  the  feelings  of  af 
fection.  A  few  days  before,  as  he  meditated  upon 
his  love  for  Harmony,  a  word  had  arisen  in  him  which 
said,  "Go,  and  prevail !"  And  immediately  had  he  start 
ed  on  the  journey  to  Dunkirk,  clothed  in  all  a  lover's 
ardor.  But  he  saw  now  that  he  was  but  an  instrument 
in  the  Lord's  hand  to  unite  Harmony  with  another; 
his  coming  was  intended  to  bring  down  self — to  be  a 
humbling  experience.  The  language  that  had  passed 
through  his  mind  meant  that  he  was  to  go  to  Dunkirk 
and  there  prevail  over  his  passion. 

"Harmony,"  he  said  finally  in  a  gentle  voice,  "art 
thou  sure  of  thy  lover's  feelings  for  thee  ?" 

"I  know  that  he  loves  me,"  she  answered  simply. 

"And  thou  art  sure  of  thy  love  for  him?" 

"Yes,"  she  murmured,  "I  am  sure." 

"Then  let  nothing  keep  him  and  thee  apart."  He 
drew  her  hands  again  to  him  as  he  added,  "And  may 
the  Lord  bless  you  both.  Farewell !" 

He  turned  away  from  her;  and  Harmony,  lingering 
doubtfully  at  the  wicket,  saw  him  sink  on  his  knees 
under  the  shadow  of  the  pines  that  guarded  the  Meet 
ing  House  door. 

As  Harmony  continued  on  her  way  she  met  Empty 
Ned,  who  was  picking  flowers  by  the  roadside  and  sing- 


PAST    ALL   DISHONOR  411 

ing  happily.  At  her  greeting  he  ran  forward  and  of 
fered  her  his  bunch  of  wild  roses. 

"Thank  thee,  Ned/'  she  smiled,  "but  does  thee  not 
want  them  thyself?" 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  laugh.  "No,  not  now.  They 
were  for  the  rector  of  my  church,  but  you  may  have 
them  because  he  likes  you !" 

"How  does  thee  know  that  ?" 

"Because  when  I  take  him  roses  he  looks  pleased  and 
once  he  said:  'Ned,  roses  remind  me  of  some  one  I 
love.'  I  knew  who  he  meant,  for  didn't  he  send  me  out 
to  your  house  with  a  letter !" 

And  Empty  Ned  clapped  his  hands  at  his  astuteness. 

Harmony  gazed  at  the  roses  in  her  clasp.  Then  she 
gave  them  back  to  him.  "Ned,"  she  said,  "take  the 
flowers  to  Mr.  Donovan  and  say  I  sent  them."  With  a 
touch  of  color  in  her  cheeks,  she  added:  "And  tell  him, 
Ned,  that  I  wish  to  see  him." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SPRING   PLANTS,  AUTUMN  GARNEE3 

An  autumn  day  of  the  same  year  had  closed  in  a 
chilly  rain.  Hecla  was  in  the  sitting-room  when  Noah 
entered  with  the  mail.  There  was  only  one  letter  and 
glancing  at  it  Hecla  saw  that  it  was  from  her  sister 
Harmony. 

Shortly  after  his  quiet  marriage  to  Harmony  Mr. 
Donovan  had  received  a  call  to  a  western  mission.  The 
sisters  had  felt  the  break  of  this  parting,  but  Hecla  was 
too  rejoiced  at  Harmony's  final  acceptance  of  her  lover 
to  permit  herself  selfishly  to  grieve  over  the  increased 
loneliness  that  it  made  in  her  life. 

She  broke  the  seal  and  read  the  long  account  Har 
mony  gave  her  of  her  new  surroundings  and  the  wide 
field  of  Christian  labor  it  offered  her.  That  her  sister 
was  happy  in  wedded  life  Hecla  could  not  doubt.  It 
escaped  from  the  letter  like  the  fragrance  of  lavender. 
John  Donovan  and  she  loved  each  other,  and  the  dif 
ference  in  religious  faith  was  fused  and  forgotten  in 
that  love.  While  they  held  to  their  own  individual  con 
victions  they  walked  hand  in  hand  the  common  path 
of  spiritual  aspiration.  Hecla  read  the  affectionate 
postscript  over  twice ;  then  she  folded  up  the  sheet  with 
a  slight  sigh. 


SPRING  PLANTS,  AUTUMN  GARNERS    413 

Noah  was  on  his  knees  before  the  hearth  making  a 
cheerful  blaze  out  of  split  cedar  blocks  and  broken  fir 
branches. 

Hecla,  as  she  watched  with  what  care  the  old  negro 
built  her  favorite  fire,  said  to  him : 

"Noah,  don't  you  know  you  are  doing  wrong  to  stay  on 
here  ?  I  can  not  pay  you  the  wages  you  deserve." 

"Noah  ain't  thinken'  'bout  wages.  He's  jest  mighty 
obleeged  to  ye  fer  letten'  him  stay  right  on  yere  an'  look 
after  ye.  Didn't  ol'  marster  go  loss  his  life  jest  case 
they  was  tryen'  to  ketch  this  nigger  an'  take  him 
back  to  Marylan'  ?" 

He  laid  another  fir  branch  on  the  crackling  logs. 
Then  he  rose,  and  shaking  his  finger  at  the  golden  glow, 
said :  "Mind  what  I  say,  fire,  an'  burn  fer  missus !" 

"Thank  you,  Noah,"  Hecla  smiled.  "I  shall  forget 
what  a  dreary  night  it  is  outside  with  such  a  wonderful 
fire  to  look  at." 

She  took  her  father's  arm-chair,  which  the  negro  had 
pushed  near  the  fender,  and  gazed  at  the  flames.  Gusts 
of  wind  and  rain  rattled  the  window-sashes,  and  it 
seemed  to  Hecla  that  the  sounds  were  like  voices  of  the 
past.  It  had  been  part  of  the  growth  in  her  since  her 
husband's  departure  that  she  had  become  more  spiritual- 
minded.  John  Donovan  had  been  an  influence  in  this 
direction  during  his  comforting  visits  following  on 
David's  death;  and  Hecla's  thoughts  often  dwelt  on  the 
possibilities  of  life  after  death.  She  wondered  if  the 
dead  ever  returned  to  visit  the  scenes  they  had  loved. 
Did  her  father  see  her  now  ?  she  asked  herself ;  and  what 
did  he  think  of  the  changes  that  had  come  to  her  and 
the  home  he  had  left  her  ? 


414  HECLA    SANDWITH 

She  was  aroused  from  her  reverie  by  her  brother 
Jervis  entering  the  room  to  bid  her  good  night. 

It  had  been  her  custom  to  go  up  stairs  and  sit  with 
him  while  he  prepared  for  bed ;  but  the  last  time  Lucia 
had  been  to  see  her  she  had  accused  her  of  spoiling  the 
child;  so  she  had  reluctantly  given  up  this  motherly 
care  of  him. 

She  fancied  that  he  left  her  to-night  a  little  wist 
fully  and  her  heart  convicting  her  she  followed  him  up 
stairs. 

She  found  him  asleep  on  his  knees,  fatigued  with  the 
long  catalogue  of  requests  he  made  nightly  to  his  Maker. 
She  aroused  him;  but  after  he  was  in  bed  he  "mur 
mured  :  "I  have  forgotten  something,  Sister  Hecla,"  and 
slipping  out  of  the  covers  he  once  more  knelt  in  prayer. 

She  sat  beside  him  a  long  time  in  silence.  At  last  she 
said  softly :  "Jervis,  are  you  asleep  ?" 

"No,  Sister  Hecla,  I  am  wide  awake/' 

"What  makes  you  so  quiet  then  ?" 

"I  am  wishing,  and  when  I  wish  hard  I  see  the  things 
I  want  dropping  down  from  Heaven." 

"Are  there  so  many  things  you  want,  Jervis?"  Hecla 
asked  a  little  forlornly. 

He  did  not  answer  and  she  slipped  one  arm  under 
his  pillow  and  laid  her  cheek  against  his.  "Tell  Sister 
Hecla,"  she  whispered,  "what  you  wish  for  most  and 
perhaps  she  can  give  it  to  you." 

She  added  hesitatingly:  "Is  it  more  companions — 
boys  of  your  own  age  to  play  with?  Are  you  lonely, 
Jervis,  with  only  Sister  Hecla  ?" 

He  was  still  silent  and  she  continued:  "Would  you 
like  to  go  to  school,  now  you  are  such  a  big  boy  ?" 


SPRING  PLANTS,  AUTUMN  GARNERS    415 

"Yes,  I'd  like  to  go  to  school,"  he  admitted  after 
thinking  about  it. 

"And  leave  me  ?"  she  faltered. 

"I  don't  want  to  leave  you,"  he  answered,  "but  it 
would  be  nice  to  go  to  school  like  other  boys." 

"Are  you  sure?"  she  asked  piteously. 

He  gravely  nodded ;  but  his  hand  stole  out  and  clasped 
hers. 

"Sister  Hecla  will  think  about  it,  then,"  she  answered. 

She  sat  on  silent  after  that,  holding  his  hand.  She 
thought  he  must  have  fallen  asleep  when  he  made  a 
slight  stir. 

"What  is  it,  Jervis?" 

"You  wouldn't  be  so  lonely  if  brother  Richard  wasn't 
dead  like  father,  would  you  ?" 

"Brother  Richard  isn't  dead,  Jervis.  You  know  I  told 
you  he  had  gone  back  to  England." 

"But  you  said  he  was  dead  the  night  you  came  back 
from  Snow  Shoe." 

"How  do  you  know  that  ?"  she  asked  him. 

"Because  I  was  looking  down  over  the  balusters.  You 
said,  'Richard  is  dead  to  me/  and  then  you  went  and 
fixed  the  hands  of  the  clock,  and  they  have  always  been 
that  way,  just  as  they  stood  still  when  father  died. 
You  looked  so  strange  I  went  back  to  bed." 

"But  I  did  not  mean  he  was  dead  like  father, 
Jervis.  I  only  meant  that  he  had  gone  away  in  a  ship 
and  would  never  come  back." 

"In  the  same  ship  that  brought  him  ?" 

"What  ship  do  you  mean,  little  brother  ?" 

"That  is  just  make  believe,  Sister  Hecla.  I  mean  the 
ship  on  the  clock  that  used  to  sail  and  sail  and  never 


416  HECLA    SANDWITH 

went  any  more  after  father  died.  I  used  to  wonder  who 
was  sailing  in  it.  Then  brother  Richard  came  across 
the  sea ;  and  I  said  the  ship  brought  him.  I  often  think 
of  things  like  that,  Sister  Hecla." 

"You  are  always  thinking,  aren't  you,  Jervis?" 

"Yes,  that  is  why  I  sit  by  myself.  I  often  think  about 
brother  Eichard,  don't  you,  Sister  Hecla  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  faltered,  "I  think  about  him  very  often, 
Jervis." 

"Why  did  brother  Eichard  go  away?"  he  asked  after 
a  pause. 

"Because — don't  ask  Sister  Hecla  why.  Perhaps  be 
cause  she  wasn't  good  to  him." 

"But  you're  sorry  and  you'd  be  good  to  him  if  he 
came  back,  wouldn't  you?"  the  child  went  on  relent 
lessly. 

"Yes,  Sister  Hecla  would  try  to  be  good  to  him." 

"And  won't  he  ever  come  back  ?" 

"I  am  afraid  not,  dear." 

"Don't  you  want  him  to  come  back  ?" 

"Jervis,  don't,  don't,"  Hecla  whispered  brokenly. 
"Yes,  Sister  Hecla  wants  him  to  come  back  very,  very 
much." 

"Then  I'll  ask  Grod  to  send  him  back,"  Jervis  an 
swered  and  he  got  out  of  bed  and  knelt  at  her  knee. 

"Jervis,  Jervis,"  she  murmured  over  his  curly  little 
head,  "don't  you  know  you  are  breaking  my  heart  ?" 

And  as  he  clambered  back  into  the  sheets  she  leaned 
over  and  let  her  tears  wet  his  cheek. 

"I  prayed  about  it,  Sister  Hecla,"  Jervis  murmured 
sleepily,  as  he  lay  with  her  hand  held  tightly  in  his. 

When  at  last  he  dropped  into  dreams,  Hecla  left  him. 


SPRING  PLANTS,  AUTUMN"  GARNERS    417 

Descending  the  stairs  into  the  gloomy  hall  she  paused 
before  the  old  hall  clock.  The  hands  still  indicated 
the  hour  of  twelve,  where  she  had  thrust  them  the  night 
she  received  Richard's  letter  telling  her  of  his  departure 
for  England. 

Moved  by  an  impulse  she  took  the  key  and  wound  up 
the  silent  timepiece.  She  heard  again  with  quickened 
heart-throb  the  familiar  sound  of  its  ticking  as  the 
pendulum  swung  to  and  fro  and  the  little  painted  ship 
began  rocking  on  the  green  waves  above  the  dial. 

"Come  back/'  she  said  softly,  "Richard,  come  back !" 

And  she  stood  watching  how  the  little  ship  journeyed 
on. 

At  last  she  reseated  herself  before  the  fire  in  the  sit 
ting-room.  Her  heart  ached  as  she  thought  of  Jervis. 
So  she  must  lose  him,  too!  This  child,  this  Benjamin 
of  her  love,  was  she  not  making  his  life  sad  through  the 
emptiness  of  the  big  house — the  house  she  clung  to  de 
spite  the  changes  that  the  years  had  wrought? 

She  was  presently  startled  by  a  knock  on  the  front 
door.  Visitors  at  night  were  rare  now;  so  she  asked 
nervously :  "Who  is  it  ?" 

"It's  I,  Wentworth." 

"Oh,  Wentworth,"  she  said  faintly,  unbarring  the 
door. 

The  thought  had  passed  through  her  mind  that  it 
might  be  Richard — that  already  Jervis'  little  ship  had 
brought  him  back  to  her. 

Wentworth  laid  aside  his  hat  and  dripping  umbrella. 

"How  wet  you  are!"  she  exclaimed.  "How  good  of 
you  to  come  to  see  me  on  such  a  bad  night !  But  there 
is  a  fire  in  the  sitting-room — one  of  Noah's  fires." 


418  HECLA    SANDWITH 

"Wentworth,"  she  said  to  him  when  they  were  seated 
before  the  blaze,  "I  am  glad  you  came  to-night.  I  want 
to  talk  with  you  about  Jervis.  He  is  old  enough  now  to 
go  to  school,  isn't  he?  I  have  been  foolish,  perhaps,  to 
keep  on  teaching  him  so  long  myself  when  he  ought  to 
have  had  the  companionship  of  other  boys." 

"Why  not  send  him  to  the  Dunkirk  Academy,  then?" 

"N"o,  I  think  that  wouldn't  be  the  right  place. 
Father,  I  am  sure,  would  have  wanted  him  to  be 
brought  up  under  Friends'  influence.  Often  I  fancy  he 
has  something  of  his  grandfather's  spirit  in  him  and 
that  he  will  become  a  minister  of  the  Gospel.  I  was 
considering  Westtown  as  the  proper  school — where 
Dave  went  before  him." 

"It  will  be  hard  for  you  to  lose  him." 

"Hard?  0  Wentworth,  the  desolation  of  it!"  And 
she  sat  straining  her  wide  eyes  into  the  fire,  her  hands 
clasped  tightly  on  her  lap.  She  was  still  in  the  mourn 
ing  that  she  had  put  on  for  her  brother  and  her  face, 
a  little  thin,  had  gathered  some  lines.  But  she  had  still 
the  beauty  of  perfectly  cut  features  and  her  rich  hair 
increased  the  delicacy  of  her  fine  skin.  The  pale  face 
was  flushed  now  from  the  glow  of  the  flames ;  and  in  the 
warm  light  she  looked  her  youth  in  spite  of  suffering 
and  experience. 

"Do  you  think,"  she  continued,  "that  it  can  be  man 
aged  ?  I  mean  can  I  afford  it  ?  You  know  how  willing 
I  am  to  sacrifice  comforts  so  my  little  brother  can  have 
the  schooling  to  make  him  a  good  and  useful  man." 

"It  won't  be  necessary  to  make  sacrifices,  Hecla.  I 
am  just  back  from  Moshannon  Hall  and  Mr.  Markham 
said  to  tell  you  that  the  coal  mining  company  would 


SPEING  PLANTS,  AUTUMN  GAENEES    419 

make  you  a  good  offer  for  the  wild  land  you  own  near 
Snow  Shoe.  I  had  forgotten  that  your  father  left  you 
any  such  property,  but  looking  over  the  list  of  his  real 
estate  I  saw  that  it  was  not  only  put  down  but  marked, 
'Valuable  some  day.' " 

"Yes,  father  always  had  faith  in  Snow  Shoe,  and  you 
know  he  was  constantly  dreaming  that  coal  would  be 
discovered  somewhere  on  his  lands." 

"And  his  dreams  have  come  true,  Hecla.  Time  has 
proved  how  rich  the  coal  fields  there  are,  and  since 
the  railroad  has  opened  out  the  region  property  within 
miles  of  Snow  Shoe  is  becoming  daily  more  valuable. 
The  sale  of  that  piece  of  wild  land  will  put  you  in  easy 
circumstances  again.  Mr.  Markham  says  the  company 
offers  you  twenty  thousand  dollars." 

"Wentworth,  I  am  so  glad  of  it  for  Jervis'  sake!  I 
feel  it  was  through  me  that  he  lost  his  inheritance. 
When  I  look  out  and  see  that  waste  of  water  before 
my  door  and  remember  how  the  old  furnace  used 
to  redden  the  sky  over  the  hills  at  casting  hour,  the 
sense  of  change  comes  back  to  me  as  if  it  had  all  hap 
pened  only  yesterday.  And  when  father  died  he  believed 
he  had  left  his  children  an  ample  fortune.  Ah,  if  the 
Works  could  have  been  kept  in  the  family !  It  seems  like 
blaming  Dave;  and  I  don't  blame  him,  for  he  did  his 
best.  Poor  David !  Yet  if  the  Works  had  gone  on  run 
ning  until  Jervis  grew  up,  he  might  have  become  an 
iron-master  like  father!  "When,"  she  asked,  "does  Mr. 
Markham  expect  to  start  the  new  furnace  ?" 

"Very  shortly  now,  I  believe.  You  know  his  opinion 
is  that  the  old  charcoal  furnace  has  seen  its  day;  that 
the  cost  of  producing  metal  by  that  method  was  too 


420  HECLA   SANDWITH 

high,  to  make  it  a-  paying  investment  any  longer.  So 
he  has  turned  the  Hecla  into  a  coke  furnace,  with  the 
new  mechanical  appliances  that  permit  of  making  iron 
in  much  larger  quantities  at  a  much  cheaper  rate.  The 
discovery  of  coal  so  near  at  hand  has  been  an  immense 
advantage  in  connection  with  the  furnace.  The  Hecla 
is  bound  to  be  a  great  success.  The  town  is  confident 
of  prosperity,  with  all  the  new  enterprises  in  the  air." 

"And  Mr.  Markham  gets  all  the  credit,  Wentworth, 
when  it  is  to  Eichard's  genius  and  faith  in  Snow  Shoe 
that  Dunkirk  really  owes  everything.  That  is  the  in 
justice  of  life !" 

"It  is  human  nature  to  forget.  Your  husband  left 
Dunkirk  and  Mr.  Markham  has  stayed  and  carried 
out  his  schemes  and  ideas/' 

Hecla  sighed,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  flames.  Went 
worth,  after  watching  her  for  a  moment,  said : 

"You  miss  him,  Hecla?" 

"I  am  lonely,"  she  answered.  "And  when  I  think  of 
Jervis'  going  away  to  Westtown,  my  courage  fails  me. 
Oh,  how  shall  I  bear  it?" 

And  suddenly  shaken  by  uncontrollable  emotion  she 
buried  her  face  in  her  palms. 

The  fire  had  fallen  away  to  red  embers  and  the  warm 
dusk  of  the  room  was  rich  with  the  fragrance  of  balsam 
and  burnt  wood.  Hecla  was  an  appealing  figure  as  she 
sat  there,  the  shine  of  the  hearth  on  her  hands  and  hair. 
Wentworth  leaned  toward  her.  "Hecla,"  he  said,  "Hec 
la!" 

Startled  at  the  passion  in  his  voice  she  drew  herself 
quickly  out  of  his  encircling  arm.  "Hecla,"  he  breathed 
as  their  eyes  met,  "I  love  you !" 


SPRING  PLANTS,  AUTUMN  GARNERS    421 

He  was  on  his  knees  beside  her  chair  and  his  breath 
was  against  her  cheek.  But  she  repulsed  him  with  the 
strength  of  her  indignation,  and,  rising,  stood  looking 
down  upon  him  in  silence. 

With  something  like  wonder  Hecla  asked  herself 
why  she  had  ever  preferred  Wentworth  to  Richard. 
She  saw  her  cousin  now  not  through  her  imagination 
and  girlhood's  heart,  but  in  the  disillusioning  light  of 
her  new  feelings  for  her  husband.  Richard's  many 
claims  to  her  affection  crowded  upon  her,  and  it  was 
with  a  fresh  sense  of  their  relative  worth  that  she  com 
pared  the  two  men.  During  the  year  Richard  Hallett 
had  been  away  Hecla's  emotions  had  undergone  a  revo 
lution.  Her  husband's  image  had  gradually  filled 
Wentworth's  place  in  her  heart.  It  came  partly  from 
the  changed  relations  of  Richard  toward  her.  As  his 
position  had  altered  so  had  her  feelings  altered.  Once 
he  had  represented  duty — the  man  she  had  not  wished 
to  marry  but  whom  circumstances  had  forced  upon  her 
and  bade  her  love — just  as  Wentworth  had  stood  for 
sentiment — the  lover  that  could  never  be  hers.  Now  it 
was  different.  Richard  demanded  nothing  of  her  and 
she  gave  him  all.  Hecla's  reaction  was  not  caprice — 
it  was  only  human  nature. 

Wentworth  stood  miserably  facing  her.  "Hecla,  for 
give  me,"  he  said.  Then  as  she  did  not  reply:  "I  am 
going." 

"Wait,"  she  said,  "don't  go,  Wentworth,  until  I  tell 
you  that  I  have  nothing  to  forgive.  You  haven't  meant 
to  forget  the  respect  you  owe  another  man's  wife.  You 
have  been  too  good  to  me  all  these  years  for  me  ever 
to  feel  unkindly  toward  you.  If  there  were  anything  to 


422  HECLA    SANDWITH 

pardon  I  should  gladly  pardon  it.  No,  you  have  done 
me  a  service  rather  than  a  wrong.  I  think  I  must  have 
gone  on  caring  for  you  until  to-night,  and  that  was  the 
reason  I  did  not  appreciate  my  husband  or  give  him  the 
love  I  owed  him.  But  I  know  now  I  love  him  as  I 
never  did  and  never  could  love  you.  It  may  be  too  late ; 
I  may  never  see  him  again ;  but  it  will  make  no  differ 
ence.  No  matter  how  old  I  grow  it  will  be  his  memory 
that  will  help  me  to  live." 

She  put  out  her  hand,  gazing  at  him  with  emotion 
for  her  husband  in  her  eyes.  "Wentworth,"  and  her 
voice  was  full  of  gentleness,  "forget  to-night.  And  for 
get  that  you  ever  loved  me.  But  I  need  not  say  it. 
Now  that  you  know  I  love  Richard  your  feeling  for  me 
will  pass." 

"Good-by,"  he  said,  "it  is  better  we  should  not  see 
each  other  any  more." 

"Yes,  it  is  better,"  she  answered. 

She  stood  before  the  dying  fire,  one  hand  resting  on 
the  white  wooden  mantel-piece. 

She  heard  him  take  his  umbrella  from  the  rack, 
fumble  over  the  difficult  latch,  and  then  the  sound  of 
the  closing  door  fell  on  her  ear. 

At  the  sound  the  memory  of  that  other  parting  came 
back  to  her — the  going  away  of  Eichard  Hallett  into 
the  night  of  the  garden,  never  to  return. 

And  it  seemed  to  Hecla,  as  she  stared  into  the  em 
bers,  that  she  had  been  set  apart  by  fate  to  bear  more 
than  it  was  the  lot  of  most  women  to  bear. 

On  the  hearth  the  last  sparks  blinked  and  died  out, 
leaving  the  room  in  darkness. 

But  she  did  not  move. 


CHAPTEE  XVIII 

THE  END  SOOTHES  ALL  THE  CURSE  OF  THE  BEGINNING 

Owing  to  his  large  business  interests  of  the  last  few 
years  Mr.  Trevis  Markham  had  found  it  convenient 
to  move  to  Dunkirk  and  consequently  Hecla  saw 
much  of  her  old  school  friend,  Rhoda.  Rhoda  Mark- 
ham's  healthy,  cheerful  character  made  her  a  welcome 
visitor  at  Burnham,  and  she  did  more  than  any  one  else 
at  this  time  to  brighten  Hecla's  life,  which  was  more 
desolate  than  ever  now  that  Jervis  had  been  sent  to 
Westtown.  Wentworth,  Hecla  no  longer  saw — the  sale 
of  the  wild  land  at  Snow  Shoe  and  other  legal  matters 
he  attended  to  for  her  called  only  for  correspondence 
between  them;  so  with  Harmony  living  in  a  western 
mission  and  Hetty  still  traveling  in  Europe,  Hecla  was 
deprived  of  the  companionship  upon  which  she  had 
most  depended  in  the  past.  Her  Aunt  Seaborn  Oliver 
occasionally  made  her  one  of  her  tearful  calls;  and  her 
distant  cousin  Jane  Hamilton  "ran  out,"  as  she  put  it, 
now  and  then  for  a  chat;  but  these  and  more  formal 
visitors  scarcely  represented  appreciable  reliefs  to  her 
loneliness,  and  it  was  Rhoda's  society  that  gave  her  the 
most  pleasure. 

It  was  on  a  crisp  Sunday  late  in  November,  with  a  high 
blue  heaven  and  sturdy  sunshine,  that  Hecla  heard  the 

423 


424  HECLA    SANDWITH 

sound  of  carriage  wheels  before  the  house.  Going  to  the 
door  she  saw  it  was  the  Markhams'  coach  containing 
Ehoda  wrapped  in  furs,  her  cheeks  crimson  as  an  autumn 
leaf  and  her  eyes  sparkling. 

"Hecla,"  she  called  out,  "you  know  the  furnace  is  go 
ing  to  be  lighted  this  morning  and  I  want  you  to  drive 
out  with  me  and  grace  the  occasion.  You'll  come, 
won't  you  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  I'll  come,  Ehoda/'  Hecla  agreed,  not  with 
out  an  effort. 

The  request  seemed  to  her  a  little  inconsiderate,  tak 
ing  into  account  what  emotions  must  naturally  be  ex 
cited  in  her  heart  at  the  sight  of  her  father's  old  furnace 
starting  again  under  the  auspices  of  the  Markhams. 
She  had  conquered  the  human  feelings  that  had  first 
arisen  at  the  thought  of  Mr.  Markham  enjoying  the 
position  of  iron-master,  which  had  once  been  her  fath 
er's  and  afterward  her  brother  David's.  Bitterness  over 
the  prosperity  of  the  Markhams  founded  on  the  ruin  of 
her  own  fortune  was,  she  told  herself,  unworthy  of  her. 
Nevertheless,  she  felt  a  sharp  heart-ache  as  she  got  into 
the  carriage  to  drive  out  and  witness  the  inauguration 
of  Hecla  Furnace  under  its  new  management. 

Ehoda  talked  with  more  than  her  usual  animation, 
Hecla  thought,  as  the  carriage  rolled  along  the  road  in 
the  direction  of  the  Works ;  nor  did  she  appear  to  notice 
that  her  own  interest  in  the  ceremony  to  take  place  that 
morning  was  met  by  some  restraint  on  the  part  of 
Joshua  Sandwith's  daughter. 

Hecla  looked  out  of  the  window,  watching  the  fa 
miliar  objects  as  they  passed.  They  came  to  the  bowl  of 
hills  where  clustered  the  rolling-mill  and  forge  at  the 


THE    END    SOOTHES    ALL  425 

foot  of  the  dam.  By  the  wayside  was  the  low  white 
washed  building — half  office  and  half  supply  store,  and 
opposite  it,  set  back  high  above  the  road,  the  old  Sand- 
with  homestead  still  occupied  as  a  boarding-house  by 
Mrs.  Littlepage  and  now  Clover's  home  again  since  the 
deatli  of  David.  All  were  family  landmarks.,  associ 
ated  witli  a  hundred  thoughts  of  her  father  and  brother, 
and  Hecla  as  she  gazed  at  them  remembered  the  last 
lighting  of  the  furnace  to  which  she  had  driven  that 
calm  Sunday  morning  in  May,  four  years  ago.  Alas, 
what  changes  had  taken  place  in  those  four  years ! 
What  breaking  of  ties,  tragedies,  material  reverses  had 
marked  like  milestones  the  slow  passage  of  time ! 

They  reached  The  Bank,  as  the  row  of  limestone 
cottages  was  called.  There  was  Christy  Pickle's  little 
home  with  its  window-ledges  lined  with  geraniums  in 
glasses  and  broken  pitchers  and  the  tiny  yard  in  front. 
Hecla  had  a  quick  painful  memory  of  her  first  meeting 
with  Richard,  the  evening  she  had  gone  to  see  Christy's 
night-blooming  cereus.  The  old  woman,  rigid  as  usual 
in  her  rusty  black  Sunday  garments,  was  just  pushing 
open  the  rickety  cottage  gate,  the  same  huge  hymn-book 
in  her  grasp;  she  was  on  her  righteous  way  to  the 
Evangelical  chapel  on  the  hill  a  half -hour  before  services 
according  to  her  established  practice.  Hecla  bade  Ehoda 
stop  the  carriage  that  she  might  greet  the  stern  arbiter 
of  other  people's  manners  and  morals.  Time  had  brought 
grief  to  Christy  also.  Her  fat  philosophic  spouse  Mog 
had  died  during  the  summer  past  and  his  dust  now  re 
posed  in  the  Sandwith  burying-ground  on  the  pine- 
guarded  hilltop  overlooking  Dunkirk,  for  Joshua  Sand 
with  had  made  provision  in  his  will  that  his  old  work- 


426  HECLA    SANDWITH 

men  might  have  the  right  of  sepulture  there  in  token  of 
his  affection. 

"I  was  so  sorry  to  hear  of  Meg's  death,  Christy/' 
Hecla  said  as  she  gave  her  hand  to  the  old  woman. 

"Yes,  he's  dead  an'  gone,  lyen'  up  there  on  the  hill 
aside  a  thet  fust  wife  a  hizen.  He  wanted  to  rest  'tween 
her  an'  me  an'  Ah  dun  wot  he  said.  He's  there  with  her 
on  one  side  an'  a  place  fer  me  on  t'other.  But  Ah  got  ta 
thinken'  an'  Ah  couldn't  stand  it,  so  Ah  up  and  put  a 
fence  round  him  and  whur  Ah'll  lie.  He  didn't  say 
nuthen'  agen'  that  an'  Ah  don't  want  ta  feel  like  no 
Mormon  critter  thet  never  had  a  whole  man  to  herself. 
She  warn't  sinful  like  Ah  be.  But  sinnen'  er  no  sinnen' 
Ah  dun  more'n  she  dun,  saven'  his  wages  an'  gitten'  him 
away  from  fights  a  Saturday  night.  An'  Ah'm  mighty 
glad  a  that  there  fence  'tween  him  and  her.  My!  w'en 
Ah  thinks  a  how  set  up  she  is  in  Heaven  with  his  sperit 
to  herself  Ah'd  like  to  die  jest  to  go  up  there  and  spite 
her !  Well,  Heckly's  starten'  up  agen  an'  Ah  hopes  she'll 
hev  better  luck  'n  she  had  the  last  time  Dave  run  her." 
And  Christy  strode  on. 

The  furnace  was  reached  presently,  and  they  dis 
mounted  among  the  crowd  of  workmen  gathered  to  wit 
ness  the  lighting.  Mr.  Markham,  as  he  shook  hands  with 
Hecla,  said  heartily:  "So  Ehoda  brought  you  as  she 
promised,  Mrs.  Hallett !  We  should  all  have  been  dis 
appointed  if  Joshua  Sandwith's  daughter  hadn't  come 
to  see  Hecla  Furnace  start  up  again." 

At  the  entrance  of  the  casting-shed  Hecla  beheld 
many  familiar  faces.  There  was  Solomon  Stitch,  his 
great  dolphin  physiognomy  as  lugubrious  as  of  old; 
Uncle  Billy  Spotts,  the  county's  famed  nonagenarian, 


THE    END    SOOTHES    ALL  427 

displaying  his  two  yellow  cuspids  as  he  smiled  his  recog 
nition;  Whispering  Willy,  the  flint-picker,  working  his 
pantaloons  up  and  down  in  hoarse-breathing  excite 
ment  ;  lame  Joe,  the  jigger-boss.  There,  too,  was  Archy 
McSwords,  now  the  proud  possessor  of  Alpharetta's 
hand ;  with  the  lady  standing  close  by,  her  knot  of  brass- 
colored  hair  hidden  by  a  bright  new  hood.  All  showed 
their  pleasure  at  seeing  Hecla,  for  all  took  it  to  heart 
that  such  heavy  misfortunes  should  have  befallen  the 
family  of  their  old  master.  Many  a  rough  grimy  hand 
grasped  hers  as  she  made  her  way  toward  the  shed. 

"Mrs.  Hallett,"  Mr.  Markham  said,  "I  have  a  request 
to  make  of  you.  We  want  you  to  do  the  honors  of  the 
occasion  by  applying  the  torch  to  the  hearth." 

"I,  Mr.  Markham?"  she  exclaimed  in  surprise.  "Why, 
it  is  Khoda's  place  to  do  that !" 

"No,"  he  answered,  smiling,  "it  is  the  place  of  Joshua 
Sandwith's  daughter  to  light  her  father's  old  furnace." 

"Father,"  Ehoda  said  impulsively,  "don't  keep  her  in 
the  dark  any  longer.  Hecla," — and  she  kissed  her  af 
fectionately, — "we  planned  a  surprise  for  you  to-day. 
The  furnace  doesn't  belong  to  us  at  all.  Your  husband 
asked  father  to  bid  it  in  in  his  name.  Mr.  Hallett  is  in 
side  the  casting-shed,  waiting  for  you."  And  with  a 
happy  laugh  she  gave  Hecla  a  little  push  forward. 

They  were  at  the  entrance  of  the  shed.  The  interior 
was  shadowy  despite  the  bars  of  sunlight  that  fell  slant 
ingly  from  the  clearstory.  Richard  Hallett  stood  near 
the  great  crucible  which  had  taken  the  place  of  the 
primitive  hearth,  talking  to  Jerry  Brown  the  founder. 
Hecla,  as  she  recognized  her  husband,  felt  slowly  a 
faintness  come  upon  her.  She  put  out  her  hand  to 


428  HECLA    S'ANDWITH 

catch  hold  of  Ehoda;  but  Ehoda  had  slipped  away. 
With  her  heart  quickened  almost  to  suffocation  she 
moved  slowly  on  over  the  soft  sand  floor.  When  quite 
near  she  stopped,  unable  to  go  farther.  Now  Eichard 
looked  up  and  saw  her,  a  black-robed  figure,  standing 
there  gazing  at  him. 

"Hecla !"  he  cried,  coming  forward.  Then  as  he  took 
her  in  his  arms :  "My  wife  V 

"Yes,"  she  said,  tears  choking  her,  "your  wife  at 
last.  Oh,  Eichard,  Eichard,  you  have  come  back  to 
me!" 

"It  was  my  doing,"  he  said  as  they  walked  back  to 
Burnham.  "I  mean  this  meeting  at  the  new  coke 
furnace.  It  seemed  to  me  it  stood  for  the  uniting  of 
those  very  interests  that  once  helped  to  keep  us  apart. 
Hecla,  when  you  put  the  torch  to  the  hearth  to-day  you 
kindled  a  fire  that  burns  up  that  old  misunderstanding 
of  ours.  Let  us  think  of  the  hearth  as  the  new  altar  of 
our  married  life !" 

"But  Eichard,  the  hearth  has  to  be  renewed  each  year 
and  the  fire  of  our  love  will  burn  on  always !" 

"No,"  he  smiled  back,  "the  difference  between  the 
new  coke  furnace  and  your  father's  old  one  is  that  the 
fire  does  not  have  to  be  put  out." 

Slowly  they  walked  along  the  familiar  roadside,  pine- 
shaded,  and  fringed  still  with  ghostly  remnants  of 
autumn's  wealth.  Here  and  there  gleamed  late  stars 
of  the  purple  aster — stalks  forgotten  by  the  November 
chill.  The  morning  had  broken  crisp  with  frost,  but  as 
the  sun  mounted  a  warmth  pervaded  the  day — last  flash 
of  Indian  summer  ere  the  world  sank  to  wintry  death. 


THE    END    SOOTHES    ALL  429 

Little  had  been  said  on  the  way — much  understood. 
Almost  it  seemed  that  explanations  were  unnecessary 
after  the  embrace  which  had  united  Eichard  and  Hecla, 
and  made  them  husband  and  wife,  in  new  and  nobler 
sense.  In  that  moment  of  heart  communion  the  great 
question  had  been  asked  and  answered;  doubts  of  each 
other  had  been  dissipated;  a  serene  sense  of  possession 
had  entered  into  their  understanding  and  havened  them 
round  with  peace.  The  confident,  tonic  morn  filled  their 
spirits  like  a  revelation  of  life's  rich  and  hardy  promises. 
Hecla's  cheeks  were  touched  with  color — glow  of 
autumn  and  of  love;  she  had  thrown  back  her  heavy 
veil;  her  hand  rested  on  Eichard's  arm.  Wayfarers 
noting  them  felt  the  atmosphere  of  happiness  they  dis 
tilled  and  smiled  their  sympathy. 

Beaching  the  point  in  the  highway  where  the  path 
led  past  the  Meeting  House,  and  tempted  by  the  quiet 
within  the  walled  inclosure,  they  pushed  open  the  rust- 
grown  wicket  and  sat  side  by  side  on  the  old  stone 
steps  worn  by  the  feet  of  Hecla's  Quaker  forebears. 
The  deserted  building  had  remained  as  before,  undese- 
crated;  it  had  not  been  sold  by  Gideon  Sandwith,  con 
victed  as  he  had  been  in  that  first  hour  of  possession 
of  the  sin  of  greed.  For  a  while  the  two  sat  silent,  bask 
ing  in  the  oily  sunlight,  soothed  by  the  mumuring  of 
the  mountain  pines  that  sentineled  the  Meeting  House 
door.  At  last  Hecla  spoke  in  the  new  voice  which  ex 
pressed  the  newly-born,  happier  woman.  Her  slender 
gloved  hands  clasped  in  her  lap  the  sheaf  of  asters 
that  her  husband  had  pulled  for  her  on  their  walk;  her 
heart  was  in  the  eyes  that  gazed  toward  the  neighboring 
hill-top,  where  her  father  slept  his  last  sleep. 


430  HECLA    SANDWITH 

"Eichard,  do  you  realize  all  it  means  to  me  to  have 
you  back  ?  I  feel  as  if  I  were  beginning  life  afresh.  So 
often  it  is  denied  us  to  retrieve  the  past.  Father  would 
have  been  so  glad  of  this.  Dear  father !  He  was  so  wise 
— he  knew  me  better  than  I  knew  myself.  It  was  he  who 
planned  the  happiness  I  so  nearly  forfeited  by  my 
blindness." 

He  drew  her  lips  to  his,  and  as  she  yielded  herself 
willingly  to  his  kiss,  she  went  on: 

"You  have  so  much  to  forgive,  Eichard, — so  much  to 
forget.  Wounds  heal,  but  what  scars  they  leave!  You 
won't  remember  how  I  treated  you — but  I  shall  remem 
ber;  remember  always.  Oh,  if  I  had  nothing  to  look 
back  upon  and  regret !  I  suppose  that  is  the  great  sad 
ness  of  caring — the  real  caring  that  comes  at  last,  after 
so  much  groping,  so  many  mistakes.  I  should  give  any 
thing,  Eichard, — years  out  of  my  life, — if  only  I  had 
not  wronged  you,  been  so  unkind !  You  mustn't  think 
I  lived  on  with  no  impulse  to  tell  you  all  that  was  in 
my  heart — how  deep  my  repentance,  my  sorrow,  was. 
Often,  often  I  had  the  wish  to  write — to  say  so;  but  I 
conquered  the  desire.  I  thought  how  empty  my  words 
would  seem  to  you — how  difficult  it  would  be  for  you  to 
believe  me.  And  so  I  remained  silent." 

"And  my  silence,  Hecla,  my  staying  away — do  you 
think  that  was  easy  for  me  ?  It  cost  me  a  great  deal  to 
send  no  message — not  to  come  back  to  you.  But  I  felt 
that  after  all  it  was  best — best  that  I  should  have  gone ; 
best  that  I  should  have  stayed  away ;  and  I  felt  that  let 
ters  would  only  trouble  you.  But  how  my  tenderness 
and  longing  for  you  grew !  All  the  angry  pride  that 
made  me  leave  America  melted  away.  I  regretted  hav- 


THE    END    SOOTHES    ALL  431 

ing  been  so  hard  with  you  about  the  furnace  and  I  felt 
that,  perhaps,  I  had  done  wrong  not  to  give  up  the 
mine,  as  you  asked  me  to  do." 

"No,  no,  Eichard,  you  did  right  to  refuse.  I  should 
never  have  forgiven  myself  if  you  had  yielded  to  me 
against  your  sense  of  duty  and  honor.  I  see  it  all  now 
with  other  eyes,  and  I  love  you  the  more  for  acting 
fairly  toward  Mr.  Markham."  Tears  gathered  as  she 
added:  "I  can't  believe  I  was  so  blind — that  I  was  so 
selfish.  Bichard,  Eichard — " 

She  could  not  finish.  Drawing  her  closer  he  said 
tenderly : 

"Hecla,  you  blame  yourself  too  much.  I  was  at  fault 
as  well  as  you.  You  couldn't  help  not  loving  me.  I 
should  never  have  persuaded  you  into  marriage  before 
you  cared  for  me." 

"Yes,  marriage  under  such  conditions  was  a  mistake, 
Eichard.  But  it  was  I  who  should  have  known  that;  I 
who  should  never  have  consented.  When  I  look  back 
on  all  that,  I  blush  at  my  crudeness,  my  ignorance,  my 
desecration  of  sacred  things.  What  mistakes  I  committed 
in  the  name  of  duty !  How  cold-hearted,  how  calculating 
I  was  to  marry  you !" 

"But,  Hecla,  it  was  not  for  yourself ;  it  was  for  your 
brother  that  you  made  the  sacrifice." 

"Yes,  it  was  for  Dave.  Poor,  poor  Dave !  Oh,  Eich 
ard,  when  the  water  washed  his  dead  body  to  my  feet  I 
felt  that  my  sorrow  was  more  than  I  could  bear.  But  at 
last  I  think  I  read  the  lesson  of  it  aright — just  as  I  did 
the  failure  of  the  furnace."  Then,  with  brighter  look : 
"The  furnace  that  you  saved  after  all.  To  think  that  it 
was  my  husband  who  bought  it  in!" 


432  HECLA    S'ANDWITH 

"It  seemed  like  deceiving  you;  but  I  only  kept  the 
purchase  secret  because  I  feared  you  would  resent  owing 
anything  to  me.  I  had  to  buy  the  furnace,  dear.  It  was 
the  one  thing  I  could  do  for  you — the  effort  at  repara 
tion  for  having  refused  to  take  charge  of  the  business. 
And  I  confess  I  hoped  that  through  the  furnace  I 
might  also  in  the  end  win  your  love.  For  I  never  gave 
up  my  determination  to  win  you.  Hecla,  I  had  ex 
pected  that  marriage  would  bring  happiness  to  our 
lives.  Instead,  it  brought  you  only  distress  and  the  feel 
ing  that  I  was  always  reproaching  you.  I  did  not  put 
out  my  love  at  interest  in  marrying  you,  Hecla;  but  it 
is  inevitable  that  love  asks  for  love.  I  thought  I  was 
capable  of  an  affection  that  asked  no  return.  But  I  dis 
covered  I  was  too  human  for  that." 

"I  am  glad  that  you  proved  human,  Richard.  Other 
wise  I  might  perhaps  never  have  grown  to  love  you." 

"But  you  love  me  now,  Hecla?" — smiling  his  confi 
dence  in  her  eyes. 

"My  life  henceforward  will  be  an  effort  to  prove  it," 
she  answered  quietly.  "But  bear  with  me  for  a  while. 
I  am  still  so  ignorant  of  love.  Ah,  Eichard,  you  must 
teach  me  to  be  the  wife  I  want  to  be.  All  I  ask  is  that 
you  will  take  my  love  and  make  it  worthy  of  you." 

"Yon  will  hardly  recognize  the  old  place,"  she  said, 
as  they  were  nearing  Burnham;  "it  is  so  changed — so 
stripped  of  its  beauty.  That  is  my  punishment  for 
clinging  to  it  when  I  should  have  gone  to  Snow  Shoe." 

"We  shall  make  Burnham  as  beautiful  as  ever  it  was," 
he  said  comfortingly.  "The  dam  can  be  drained  and  a 
new  grove  of  black  walnuts  planted.  We  shall  watch 
them  grow  together !" 


THE    END    SOOTHES    ALL  433 

"No,  let  the  dam  stay,  Eichard.  Nobody  can  wipe 
out  the  past." 

"But  with  love  one  can  create  a  happier  future." 

"Ah,  Eichard,  many  waters  can  not  quench  love;  nor 
can  the  floods  drown  it.  When  I  think  how  I  treated  you 
I  wonder  that  you  could  keep  on  loving  me.  Yet/'  she 
added  with  tender  reproachfulness,  "you  left  me !" 

"I  left  you  because  I  loved  you,  Hecla.  If  I  had 
stayed  you  might  never  have  cared  for  me.  And,  re 
member,,  I  said  that  I  should  never  give  up — that  I 
should  win  you  in  the  end." 

"But  you  said  you  would  never  come  back  until  I 
asked  it!" 

"You  did  ask  it,  Hecla.  I  felt  your  love  calling  me 
across  the  seas." 

"Then  it  was  not  Wentworth's  letter !" 

For  Wentworth  had  written  to  Hallett  of  Hecla's 
loneliness  and  need  of  her  husband's  return. 

"No,"  he  said,  "the  letter  I  got  from  Wentworth 
only  proved  that  what  I  felt  was  true." 

"Oh,  it  was  the  message  I  sent  you  the  night  I  wound 
up  the  old  hall  clock  and  started  the  little  ship  rocking 
again.  Yes,  it  was  Jervis'  ship  that  brought  you !  Jervis' 
ship !" 

That  night  they  were  standing  at  the  window  when 
the  black  sky  over  the  distant  hills  reddened  with  the 
first  cast  made  by  the  furnace. 

"Look,"  Eichard  said,  "the  new  Hecla!  How  much 
brighter  the  glow  is." 

"Yes,"  she  echoed  softly ;  "the  new  Hecla !  May  she 
do  as  much  to  brighten  your  life,  Eichard !" 


Date  Due 


PRINTED    IN    U.S. 


CAT.    NO.    24    161 


A     000  625  883     4 


